


human nature study group

by clarityhiding



Category: Bandom, Mythology, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-06-26
Updated: 2009-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Except for the time that Spencer tried to eat him and Brendon tried to drain him dry, Jon finds that living with this band isn't all that different from living with humans.</p><p> <i>This fic consists of three self-contained story arcs. The first two arcs are done, the third is partly done and I'm working on it off-and-on.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Livejournal under the name "Demons! At the Disco." Not really a crossover, this theoretically takes place in the same universe as YuYu Hakusho (which I totally don't own), about ten (or twenty??) years after the series ends.
> 
>  **WARNING: There is some violence.** The demons are violent, callous dudes and they sometimes get a bit bloody, though I don't feel it warrants a "graphic violence" tag. There's also a minor character death, though it's off-screen and it happens before the start of the story. Also some mention of cannibalism, though none happens on-screen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something about Spencer.

Three days after the bassist for Panic! at the Disco disappears without a trace, Jon Walker gets a text from Pete Wentz that informs him (near as he can figure—it's a bit crude and confusing) that he's been hired as a replacement. This, of course, is rather confusing for Jon, who wasn't even aware of the fact that he was up for the position. Or that Pete had the authority to do that kind of thing, seeing as how, oh, Jon doesn't actually work for him or anything. Still. It'd be cool to be in a band again, so after some token bitching to Pete, he wanders off to the Panic! bus to find out what's going to be expected from him.

Jon isn't exactly sure which one of the Panic! boys answers when he knocks on the door of their bus. All four (well, three, now) have this weird sort of androgynous pretty going on with them, and he tends to get them mixed up. "So, uh. Wentz says I'm your new bassist," Jon says cheerfully, trying not to blush. Seriously. They're all girl-pretty—prettier than a lot of girls Jon knows, actually, and it's kind of frightening in a way.

The boy blinks and sighs. "We don't need a bass player," he says. "Brendon can do it."

"Hey, wait, what am I doing now?" asks someone further inside, and another boy—Brendon, Jon assumes—pops up. He's just as pretty as the first. Brendon brightens when he sees Jon. "Hi! You're with The Academy Is... aren't you? What are you doing here? Oh, look at him blush, he's so cute! Spencer, can we keep him?"

"I think we have to," the first boy—Spencer?—says with a sigh. "Pete apparently says he's our new bassist."

Brendon frowns. "But I can play bass. We don't need anyone new. And besides, if he's our bassist then he'd have to be on our bus and that would be..." He furrows his forehead even more.

"I think Pete's still mad at us about the Brent thing," Spencer says, shrugging carelessly, and, okay, Jon isn't sure exactly what happened with Panic!'s missing bassist? But he thinks these guys aren't nearly as bent out of shape about his mysterious disappearance as you'd think they'd be. Particularly since, hello, _mysterious disappearance_. Jon's pretty sure there isn't a single person on the tour who actually believes all that bullshit about "artistic differences" and how Brent Wilson "just wasn't interested in music anymore" that Panic!'s been telling anyone who'll listen. Sure, everyone nods and makes sympathetic noises, but Jon thinks that's mostly because the boys are so pretty that people'll agree to practically anything they say. It's slightly disturbing in his mind.

"Hey, look. I get it if you'd rather not have to deal with a new guy," Jon says with a shrug and a smile. "Honestly, Pete just sort of sprung this on me out of nowhere. I'm okay with just sticking with what I'm doing now."

"No," says a voice from behind him and _fuck_ , Jon jumps almost a foot in the air because _when the hell did someone get there?_ Jon twists around, and there's the last member of Panic! "If Pete says you're a part of the band, then you're a part of the band," the boy says, pushing back his hair to glare at his other bandmates. The younger boys squirm slightly and move out of Jon's way, while the third guy hesitates, then offers Jon a hand. "I'm Ryan."

"Yeah, I know," Jon says as he shakes Ryan's hand, because he'd already figured that one out by process of elimination. "Jon Walker. You have no idea how psyched I am about this—I haven't played with a band for a while."

"But you _can_ play, right?" Ryan asks, eyeing him with a disdainful sort of air.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, I don't know your songs, obviously, but I'm a fast learner." He grins. This is going to be great. The other guys are going to be so jealous of his getting to share a bus with Panic! He's going to have to rub it in as much as possible.

Jon settles into being a part of a band again pretty quickly, and it's great because he'd forgotten how much fun this was, even though it's a bit different than what he expected, from what he remembers. Brendon treats him like a breathing body pillow, Ryan keeps trying to dress him up, and Spencer tends to follow him wherever Jon goes so he can stand to the side and look menacing. All three guys seem to like to take him places, and if Jon didn't know better, he'd almost swear they were showing him off like he's some kind of pet. But hey, they _are_ rock stars, and from Las Vegas to boot, so their odd quirks and eccentricities really aren't as weird as they could be. Not even Brendon's weird thing of claiming to be a vegetarian even as he's sitting down to a double bacon cheeseburger.

He's been with them for a couple months when he feels settled in enough to ask the question he's been aching to know the answer to for ages. "So," Jon asks as casually as he can, "what the hell _did_ happen with Brent?"

"He went home," Spencer says carefully, like it's something he's practiced saying over and over again just to make sure he gets it right when he needs to.

"Come on, everyone knows that's bullshit," Jon says with a laugh, though now he finds he's doubting all the rumors he's been hearing for the last couple months, which makes no sense whatsoever seeing as how, hey, Spencer's answer was obviously rehearsed. "I mean, what _really_ happened? You can tell me, right?"

"Oh, well," Brendon says, glancing over at him. "If you're going to insist, I guess we can." Ryan shrugs, making it clear that he really doesn't care one way or the other. "If you must know," Brendon says in a bored tone, "we ate him."

"He'd gone rogue," Ryan says, turning a page of the book he's reading. "Started taking down non-designated groupies and things. It was a problem, so we took care of it."

"Pete got annoyed, though," Spencer says sourly. " _He_ said there were better ways to take care of that kind of thing, and that we needed to learn better self-control. Which is probably why he stuck us with you."

Jon stares at all three of them, torn between annoyance at such a flippant, over-the-top fake answer and absolute horror because the boys just sound so damned blasé about the whole thing. "...what," he says after several minutes of trying to think of something, anything to say.

"Well, you're like... constant temptation, right?" Brendon says helpfully. "You're _right there_ , and you smell so fucking good, but we can't touch you. Pete probably thinks you'll help us keep control of ourselves so we don't go rogue like Brent." He smiles brightly.

"That or he figures if we snap we'll take out you first and the groupies second," Ryan says. "Contain the damage and all that."

"Honestly, I still don't see why Pete thinks it was such a bad thing. It isn't as if Brent was particularly _good_ at bass," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "He was just in it for the girls—he liked the way teenage girls tasted," he explains to a wide-eyed Jon.

"Fuck. You guy's're. Shit," Jon squeaks, staring at them and trying not to panic, but he's totally panicking right now because there's something about the way they're saying it all casual and everything that just makes him believe them no matter how much he doesn't want to. "You're _cannibals?!_ " he finally manages.

Ryan wrinkles his nose. "God, no. Brent was a one-time thing. We only ate him because it was the easiest way to get rid of the body and Spencer has this thing about wasting food."

"It was your idea too," snaps Spencer, looking annoyed.

"You're still cannibals," Jon says, backing up and really, really wishing he had a large, blunt object of some kind right now.

"Well, no. Technically we're not, since Brent wasn't the same kind as any of us," Ryan says. "And anyway, we stick to people, generally. Well. Except for Brendon, but that's because he's got his weird vegetarian cult-thing going on."

"What. The fuck," Jon says, curled up on the seat and trying to not be obvious with his not-so-subtle glances at the nearest window as he ponders just how much force it would take to break it open.

"Good lord, Jon," Brendon says with surprise, "you didn't actually think we were _human_ , did you?"

* * *

Two months after joining Panic! at the Disco, Jon Walker invests in a canister of pepper spray. Tom thinks this is hilarious, says Jon's not _that_ popular yet and is worrying about groupies way too early, but Tom is an idiot sometimes, and besides, Tom doesn't have problems sleeping at night because he's too busy fearing for his life. Not that Jon is afraid of the rest of his band or anything. Because seriously, who would be afraid of the Panic! boys? Their only weapon is their unnaturally androgynous pretty, and that's not so much a weapon as a self-defense mechanism, Jon thinks. Teenagers are weird.

Still. Better safe than sorry and all that, and Jon's really, really glad that he's sometimes a bit paranoid the day that Spencer stumbles into the back lounge, mutters something about being, "So _hungry_ ," and collapses on the couch, on Jon. He nuzzles his face into Jon's shirt, which is just confusing for Jon, who's used to this kind of affection from Brendon, sure, but not Spencer. It isn't until Spencer presses his face against Jon's arm and bites down, hard, that he really starts to worry, though. After the shock of the initial pain, Jon laughs nervously and tries to push Spencer off, because it's still Spencer, who's basically a boy-sized Grumpy Bear and thus completely adorable. Spencer growls threateningly when Jon pushes, though, and digs his fingernails into Jon's thigh, pinning him in place. Which wouldn't be so bad, normally, since Spencer's relatively cuddly and all, but. But that really _hurts_ , and hell, is Spencer's arm usually that hairy? Jon fumbles for his pocket, turns his head away, and covers his eyes with his free hand.

Spencer makes a noise like a wailing banshee when Jon maces him, but he lets go and Jon's able to scramble away, make for the door. He walks straight into Ryan and nearly sprays him as well he's so on edge, but Ryan's not as distracted as Spencer was and he grabs both of Jon's wrists and holds his hands at waist level before anything can happen. "Spencer?" Ryan asks calmly, not moving his gaze from Jon's face.

"He fucking _maced_ me!" Spencer splutters.

Ryan raises an eyebrow, and his gaze travels down from Jon's face to the bite mark on his arm (and it seems Spencer bit hard enough to break the skin, because it's a bloody mess now), to the slowly-growing spots of blood on Jon's jeans from where Spencer dug in his nails (claws?). Ryan's nostrils flair at the sight of the blood, and he gulps. "Spencer," he says a bit shakily, forcing his attention back to Jon's face, "did you try to eat Jon?" There's muffled grumbling from behind Jon, and he really, really wishes he didn't have his back to Spencer, because Spencer has fucking _claws_ and teeth and oh god, he's going to die, isn't he? "We don't eat our bassists, Spencer. That was a one-time thing. Do you _want_ Pete and Patrick to make us go?" He sighs, releases Jon's wrists and pats him on the head. "You should go get cleaned up and bandaged. Don't want infection to set in." Jon gulps and thumbs the safety back on the spray, shoving it deep into his pocket and nodding as he pushes past Ryan. The door to the lounge closes behind him and Jon really doesn't want to know what's happening back there, because fuck, the look in Ryan's eyes as he stared at Spencer while Jon pushed past. Disappointment, regret. Anger. Hunger.

He's searching through the cupboards in their little not-quite kitchen, trying to find the first aid kit when something warm presses against his back and a pair of arms wrap around him. "You smell," a pause and the sound of someone inhaling deeply, "really, really good," rumbles the boy pressed against him.

Jon rolls his eyes. "Hello, Brendon," he says. Brendon always seems to be a bit on edge, a bit off compared to Spencer and Ryan, but Jon likes him well enough. He seems both more and less normal than the other boys a lot of the time, but he's affectionate and cuddly, and Jon has no problem with cuddles. Is, in fact, a bit of a slut for them under normal circumstances. Brendon's nuzzling at the back of his neck, though, _nibbling_ it, and that's hardly normal circumstances in Jon's book, particularly after what just happened in the back lounge. "You alright?" he asks cautiously, trying and failing to squirm free from Brendon's arms.

"Fuck, you smell good," Brendon half-moans, clearly oblivious to Jon's concern. He moves quickly, so fast that Jon can barely register movement, and suddenly Brendon has Jon's hurt arm gripped painfully-tight in his hands and he's leaning in, licking at the blood there like it's the best thing ever, better than Pixie Sticks or Skittles or anything. This whole thing is just so fucking surreal, and Jon's already reaching for the pepper spray in his pocket with his other hand when Ryan appears, twists his fingers into Brendon's hair, and _yanks_. "Ow, fuck, Ryan!" Brendon protests as he's pulled away, lips swollen and red with Jon's blood. He bares his teeth at Ryan, and tiny strands of bright white lightning jump about around where Ryan's hand is buried in Brendon's hair. Jon can seen Ryan's arm jerk each time a thread electricity connects, and the way his hand is quivering, it's clear that the feeling is not the least bit pleasant.

"The first aid kit is under the sink," Ryan says tightly. "Take it, lock yourself in the bathroom, and don't even think of coming out again until you don't smell like fresh blood anymore."

"What—" Jon begins, meaning to ask what happened to Spencer, what's wrong with everything, but then he sees Ryan's eyes and they're. Glazed over, dazed, ready to break any minute now, and Jon suddenly knows that the only thing that's keeping Ryan together at the moment is the fact that it's fallen to him to control his younger bandmates.

"Walker," Ryan says, the strain evident in his voice, "we're trying very hard here. To follow your rules. Fit into your world. Don't make it harder for us than it already is." Jon grabs the kit, nods frantically, and hightails it off to the bathroom, where he spends the next fifteen minutes showering, trying to get all the blood off, which is fucking hard because each time he sluices off the blood it seems to well up again, and the water spreads the blood everywhere. Eventually it slows to a sluggish sort of beading, and Jon gets out, dries off, and scrubs down his arm and thigh with the rubbing alcohol he finds in the first aid kit before wrapping them both with gauze. There's blood on his boxers and jeans, so he just leaves them on the floor and wraps his towel firmly around his waist before opening the door. Hopefully other guys have calmed down by now. Hopefully Jon doesn't smell like a fucking Happy Meal to them anymore.

He unearths clean clothes, gets himself presentable, and wanders off to find the others. They're sitting around the table, all three of them munching away. It looks normal enough, and then Jon realizes they're not eating pieces of fruit like he originally thought, but cubes of meat. Their fingers and lips are stained red and it's clear the meat's still raw. Jon's stomach twists with uneasiness. "Is that—" he begins, but he really can't complete the sentence, isn't sure if he wants to know the answer to whatever question he was about to ask.

Brendon smiles at him. "You are so, so lucky, Jonny Walker," he says, sounding much more like his normal self. "Because I am so big hearted, I have graciously agreed to share my steaks with Ryan and Spencer, so you will get to live tonight." He sucks the blood off his finger and scratches the side of his nose. "Sorry about earlier," he adds. "I haven't had human for a long time, and you smelled really, really good."

Spencer swallows, grimacing as he does so. "God, Brendon. This stuff tastes like shit. Don't you have anything fresher?" He keeps his eyes on his bowl, refuses to look up at Jon's face. His eyes are bloodshot and the skin around them looks raw and puffy. Jon squashes his automatic instinct to feel guilty about the mace.

"It's not like I can make it to an actual butcher's very often," Brendon shoots back. "You should stop complaining and just be grateful I had enough for three people after you screwed up and set us all off."

"Bloodlust," Ryan explains to Jon. "We're normally fine around humans, but open wounds are indicative of a wounded animal, which means easy prey. Fresh blood triggers a feeding instinct when we haven't eaten for a while. Good call with the pepper spray—you should keep it on you at all times, just in case. It might buy you enough time to run somewhere safer if we slip up again."

Jon gulps and nods, reaching into his pocket to touch the slim canister there. "So, um. The whole eating people thing is real then," he says shakily. They had this conversation a few weeks back, and yeah, he went out and bought the pepper spray pretty soon after that, but. He hadn't actually _believed_ them then, no matter how much they freaked him out.

"Mmm, yeah." Brendon yawns, pushes back his empty bowl and smiles lazily at Jon. "You taste really good." He nudges Spencer under the table with his foot. "Doesn't he taste good, Spencer?" Spencer shoots a quick glare at Brendon, then hunches over even more, curling in on himself.

"Um. Thanks?" Jon isn't sure how he's supposed to respond to that. It sounds like a compliment, but it's not as if he wants people to think about what he tastes like. "So, uh. What are you guys? Vampires?" he asks, because he knows they're not human, they made that quite clear the first time they broached the topic of eating people. And Jon remembers the smooth slide of claws through flesh when Spencer gripped his thigh, the sparks of electricity that jumped from Brendon to Ryan.

Ryan wrinkles his nose as if he finds the very idea of his being a vampire offensive, and who knows, maybe he does. "No. There isn't really an English term that expresses it correctly, but to suffice to say we're demons. Supernatural beings that feed on humans."

"Sometimes called evil spirits," Brendon volunteers, snuggling up to Spencer on the bench. "Vampires just suck blood, we need flesh and organs and things as well. Though I've found I can usually manage a balanced diet if I eat enough red meat. But humans taste nice." He smiles at Jon, but Jon doesn't feel particularly reassured. "Ryan mostly just targets non-contributing members of society, and Spencer—"

"Spencer doesn't need his private life blabbed about to just anyone," Spencer snaps, jerking to his feet and stomping away, no doubt to hide in his bunk or the back lounge.

"—is going through puberty," Brendon finishes, though Jon is pretty sure that's not what he originally intended to say. "Lots of changes and growth spurts, which means he gets very hungry, very fast sometimes. Also, sullen and moody."

"He's sorry he tried to eat you, for what it's worth," Ryan says as he stands and starts cleaning things up.

Right. Spencer, who's usually the most mature out of the three of them, is still going through puberty. Clearly there's something wrong here, but Jon stopped trying to understand what-all was wrong with this band back when he found out that they _ate their last bass player_. "So, what. He went a bit too long between munching on groupies or something?" Jon asks, trying to force out a laugh, but it's really hard to be okay with this. He's trying to convince himself that it's not that bad, he can deal with this. He can totally cope, just as long as he doesn't have to see them ever actually eat anyone.

"God, no," Ryan grimaces. "Do you have any idea what most of them put into their bodies? It's disgusting. And besides, Pete would kill us if we started in on groupies."

"Pete knows about you guys being... not-human," Jon says slowly, which... kind of makes sense, from what they've said prior to this. "Wait, oh. Hey, Pete's not human either, is he? That makes a lot of sense." Finally, something logical and sensible and—

Brendon frowns. "No, Pete's human. Why wouldn't he be? He just has really strong spiritual power is all."

"It's the resurrection that does it," Ryan says with a shrug as he begins stacking dirty bowls to the side. "Most people who're resurrected also end up having the level of their spiritual energy jacked way up."

"Resurrected. Like... three days in a tomb and then walking around, up on your feet again," Jon says, grabbing for the wall, because this is all a bit too intense and his legs are starting to feel shaky.

"Actually, I think it was more like a month in his family's den and randomly possessing Joe a few times," Brendon says thoughtfully. "Anyway, yeah, Pete knows. He wrote a tricky clause in our contract—we can only eat the people he says we can eat. Which generally means evil psychics and the occasional demon. Only we don't really do demon consumption very often, because ew, half of them are poisonous, and I don't do humans at all. It's against my religion."

"He means the 'Humans Are People Too' cult he joined a few years back," Ryan says helpfully. "Pete's doing time as a detective for the spirit plane in order to pay back for his resurrection. Supposedly that means he has to prevent major mishaps with spiritual energy and keep demons from running loose around the human world, eating whomever they like. In practice it seems to mostly consist of him getting us to do his dirty work." He tilts his head to the side, studying Jon. "Did he seriously not tell you this before sending you to us?"

"Uh. No. No, he didn't," Jon says, and god, his head hurts from trying to process so much new information at once.

"I keep telling you, Ryan," Brendon says with a sigh, "we should put together an information packet."

* * *

Jon finds it easiest to talk about this... crazy eating people thing with Brendon. Ryan tends towards the vague and distracted with most things, like he's disconnected from the rest of the world. Sometimes he seems so disconnected that Jon feels like the only reason Ryan's still around, still with them, is that Spencer and Brendon anchor him here. Still, Ryan's stronger than the other two, Jon knows, stronger and older (older by at least three, three and a half centuries he eventually finds out), strong enough that he could probably survive on his own in the otherworld, the one that most of the world's demons have retreated to. "I could too, probably," Brendon says with a shrug, "but I like the music, you know? And I've been here for so long, it's what I'm used to now. Plus, well, there's Spencer."

No one tells Jon what Spencer's issue is. It's apparently Spencer's choice about whether he wants to share or not, and Spencer's not sharing. He apologized for biting Jon three days after the act. A sullen, nervous apology, and it took another week before Jon felt like he and Spencer weren't on shaky ground anymore. "Is it because he's so young?" Jon asks, because while sometimes Spencer feels like the oldest, other times he just feels so young it aches.

Brendon bites his lip and stares down at the floor. "It's not my place to share," he says, shaking his head. He snuggles up to Jon and Jon jerks away as he's zapped by a weak charge of static electricity. "Sorry," Brendon says, though he doesn't sound sorry at all, not really.

Jon remembers the tiny lightning bolts in Brendon's hair a few weeks back, and frowns. "Is that what you three are?" he asks, studying Brendon like if he stares long enough he'll see something inhuman there. "Electricity demons?"

"Well, Ryan and Spencer are different, but I kinda am, I guess," Brendon says cheerfully. "They call me _izulu_ , or _impundulu_ , or _inyoni yezulu_ where I come from. A lightning bird from the sky."

"Where you come from?" Jon asks, raising an eyebrow. "I thought all three of you were from Las Vegas. Is... Are those names Spanish?" They sure don't sound much like Spanish to Jon, but hey, he took French in high school and doesn't really know the language, so maybe it is.

"I'm from southern Africa, originally," Brendon says with a yawn, flopping onto his side and half-curling up in Jon's lap. "Spencer's the only one of us actually from Vegas," Brendon explains with a shrug, "but that's where the band started, so that's where we tell the people we're from. It's easier than explaining. Usually when I tell people I'm from south Africa, they want to talk to me about apartheid and stuff, and I don't know any of that shit, I left way before all that went down."

"You don't look very African," Jon observes. "Or like a bird." He wonders when the apartheid started, wishes he'd paid more attention to global studies back in school, since he's pretty sure it's something that was around for a while. Jon has the vaguely uncomfortable feeling that Brendon's just implied he's way, way older than Jon. Possibly even older than Jon's parents, and that's just. Weird.

"A giant, blood-drinking, _lighting_ bird, Jon Walker," Brendon says, grinning up at him. "I am so much more awesome than a regular bird that you could not possibly understand it. Anyway, it's not like I'm going to walk around the human plane as a huge bird, that's just asking for trouble. And it's not like a bird can front a band, so I take this form most of the time."

"Dude," Spencer says as he wanders in and flops down on the couch next to them, "you're still a bird."

Jon feels Spencer has an excellent point, but he's not going to press the issue because, as Brendon pointed out, _blood-drinking_ bird. Brendon may be a... vegetarian ("there isn't an English word that really summarizes it correctly, vegetarian is the closest I can get"), but he still clutched at Jon's injured arm and lapped up the blood there like a starving man. Ryan's told Jon to be cautious around all of them ("especially Brendon, Jon, seriously—he's been doing this vegetarian thing for a while, but it also means he's more on edge"), and Jon believes him. If they treat him like a pet sometimes, he's not much better in that he occasionally treats them like wild animals.

"Yes, but I am a seductively sexy bird, Spencer," Brendon says solemnly. Spencer just rolls his eyes.

* * *

Not long after he joins Panic! at the Disco, Jon starts being stalked by Patrick Stump. Which, okay, he supposes is something of an exaggeration, since Patrick isn't actually following him around. He's just calling Jon every single day. Which isn't a problem or anything—Patrick's a nice guy, Jon likes him well enough. It's just kind of weird since they haven't ever talked much before. Not as much as this, at least. It's all a bit strange, but Jon doesn't think a lot about it, really.

One day Jon's lying in his bunk, messing around on his laptop with some shots he took earlier in the week, when Ryan stops next to him, clearly waiting to be noticed. Jon saves and closes the computer. "What's up?" he asks as he moves to sit up.

"Brendon says Patrick's been calling you," Ryan says, sitting down beside to Jon.

"Yeah," Jon says, half-smiling. The other day he was in the middle of a serious conversation with Brendon on the merits of Old Disney versus New Disney, and what exactly constituted "Old" and "New," when Patrick called. Jon's found that if he doesn't answer right away, Patrick just keeps calling until he does, which is damned annoying, so he ended up having to cut his defense of _Hercules_ short in order to answer. "Tom thinks he has a crush on me," Jon adds with a laugh. Jon isn't so sure about that—why would _Patrick Stump_ have a crush on _him_ of all people?—but he supposes it's a better explanation than some. (Brendon seems convinced that Patrick is stalking Jon with the intention of stealing him for FOB. "He cannot have you, Jon Walker," Brendon told him in his oh-so-solemn voice. "Pete gave you to us and now you are ours.")

"You should be careful around him," Ryan says, tone deadly serious.

"Who, Patrick?" Jon laughs and rolls his eyes. "C'mon, I hardly think he's going to eat me or anything." As soon as he's says this, though, Jon frowns. Because while yes, a couple months back he might've not suspected Patrick of trying to eat him, he's learning that the world is a strange and unusual place. Also, dangerous. "Unless he is? Damn, Patrick's not a demon, is he?" Jon can buy that Ryan and the other Panic! boys aren't human—they certainly don't look human, for one thing—but Patrick? Patrick's all... Patrick. Nothing like the Panic! boys.

"No," Ryan says. "He's not. He's something worse. He works for the government of the spirit plane—he's probably calling you all the time hoping we'll slip up and hurt you, giving him an excuse to ship us back to the demon plane. Or kill us. He's not choosy." Ryan rubs his nose and shrugs.

Jon gapes. That... doesn't sound like Patrick at all, not really. Well. He can be a bit nasty about certain things at times, but generally that's stuff like Pete pushing him too far or something. "Wait, you're saying Patrick _wants_ you to eat me?" Jon squeaks, because shit, Patrick's always seemed like a nice guy, is always friendly and funny on the phone. It's just. What do you do when you find out that one of your friends is hoping you get eaten by your coworkers? "And hey, doesn't Pete work for the spirit world too?"

"Patrick's a sort of... spiritual guide, I suppose you'd call him. Usually, I mean. He helps the souls of the dead find their way from the human plane to the spirit plane," Ryan explains. "That's how he got mixed up with Pete in the first place, I think—met him when Pete died a few years back. But now he's supposed to keep Pete from doing stupid shit like employing demons instead of killing them or sending them back to demon plane. He doesn't want you to die, just... get maimed or something. Unplanned human death looks horrible on his record."

Wow. Jon totally would not have suspected Patrick of being any sort of spirit guide ever. Sure, he seems to spend a fair amount of his time chasing after Pete and keeping him out of trouble, but Patrick has always come across like a fairly normal guy to Jon. Except for the whole thing of calling Jon all the time, and that's a recent development. "So I probably shouldn't tell him about Spencer and Brendon slipping up last week," Jon says slowly. He can't understand why Ryan's warning him about Patrick—it sounds like Patrick's not so much a threat to Jon as he is to the rest of Panic!, and it isn't as if Jon is exactly about to go and share the cannibalistic tendencies of his band with random people.

"Or Pete. Sometimes he trusts Patrick too much," Ryan warns. He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, glances away, and says, "Brendon and I could hold our own against Patrick, and we'd be fine living in the otherworld, though we'd rather not go back. But Spencer..." Ryan sighs and shakes his head, hands clutching at his knees. "Spencer was raised on the human plane. He wouldn't last a day on the demon plane."

Jon nods, biting his tongue to keep himself from asking about Spencer. He knows Ryan won't tell him anything—Spencer's story is Spencer's to tell and no one else's. He's found that Brendon and Ryan seem to not really care what Jon knows about them, that Brendon's just as willing to tell Jon about Ryan as he is to tell Jon about himself and vice-versa. Spencer's different, though. Spencer seems to care, seems to think it's important, and the other two respect his wish for privacy. Licking his lips, Jon chooses his next words carefully. "Spencer. He's important to you two, isn't he? Brendon said Spencer's from Vegas, that that's where the band started. Is he..." The thing that brought them all together? But that sounds too corny even to Jon, so he doesn't say it. "The one who came up with the idea of a band?" he instead finishes lamely.

The corner of Ryan's mouth curls upwards and he laughs softly. "What? No, of course not—music's my thing. Spencer was a frustrated twerp when he was younger, I figured drums could help him work off that frustration. The band was mostly my and Brendon's idea," he explains, smiling a little dreamily to himself. "Spencer... I've known him for a while now, I suppose. In human terms, at least. I made a promise to look after him, so I guess I think of him as my responsibility."

"I don't need you looking after me," Spencer snaps as he stomps over to his bunk and starts rummaging around, searching for something. Jon's so thrown by Spencer's arrival that he literally jumps in surprise, hitting his head against the underside of Spencer's bunk.

Ryan glances over at Spencer, his face a mask of disinterest. "Patrick's been phoning Jon daily, it turns out. Asking how he's getting on with us," Ryan says, smirking slightly when Spencer jerks, bangs his shin against Jon's bunk, and swears softly.

"So?" Spencer demands, and he's clearly trying to make like he isn't upset by this news, but Jon can see the way Spencer's knuckles have gone white as he clutches the edge of his bunk, can hear the way Spencer's breathing has sped up, notices the way the hair on Spencer's arms has started to grow darker, coarser. Jon automatically shrinks back into his bunk, hand going to the pocket he keeps the pepper spray in. "I don't—I can take care of myself," Spencer insists, and his voice cracks somewhere in the middle.

Jon takes a deep breath and forces himself to scramble out of his bunk, to lay the hand not in his pocket on Spencer's too-hairy arm and not flinch at the sight of the steel-grey claws Spencer's fingernails have become. "I haven't said anything to him about you," Jon says quietly, trying to keep his voice level and reassuring. "Don't worry. I won't let him do anything to you. Any of you guys," he adds a bit louder, glancing at Ryan.

"Fuck you," growls Spencer as jerks his arm away from Jon. "I don't need the protection of some weak _human_ ," he snarls, baring sharp teeth at Jon and stomping away.

Ryan's face is calm when Jon glances at him, and he shrugs. "Kids," Ryan says as he unfolds himself and stands. "What can you do?"

* * *

They've been traveling through the middle of the great plains for three or four days when Brendon starts shooting Ryan worried glances every now and then. Nothing serious, nothing like the looks Jon sees him give Spencer and Ryan when the other two haven't had a chance to, ah, _feed_ for a little too long. (Jon's found out that the only reason Brendon can really pull off his "vegetarian" thing is that he apparently raids blood banks every now and then. "I'm not a vampire," Brendon insisted when Jon raised an eyebrow at this, "but I _am_ a blood-drinker. Animal meat works, it's filling, but I need some sort of human-based sustenance. If I tried to just eat what you eat, it would be tantamount to feeding a cat just tofu—it just wouldn't be healthy. Or smart.") But. Worried looks.

Curious, Jon starts watching Ryan as well, starts making sure he keeps a safe distance between them whenever he's alone with Ryan. Watching, Jon notices that Ryan's growing more and more pale, starting to look like he's being stretched thin, something which is more than a little frightening, since it isn't as if Ryan has all that much substance to him to begin with. Now he looks like he's being stretched so thin that any day now he's going to start disappearing, and yeah, it isn't as if Jon approves of what the other guys do since, uh. Feeding on humans? Yeeeah, really not something he's comfortable with. At the same time, he's started to think of them as his friends, and if nothing else, they're part of his _band_. If Ryan wastes away to nothing because he's having nutrition problems, something tells Jon that the band isn't going to survive. If nothing else, Ryan seems to write the majority of their songs. Clearly, something must be done about the current situation.

He checks his pocket for his pepper spray before he tries anything, and Jon realizes he's become a bit of a girl in how dependent he's become on the stuff, but he tries to convince himself it's not any worse than when he was using a spray bottle of water to train Dylan not to piss on the couch. Which is a perfectly acceptable comparison, considering how he knows the other guys think of him as a sort of a pet.

Anyway. Ryan's curled up and staring out a window at the passing scenery, eyes dull and distracted, when Jon sits down next to him and nudges Ryan's leg with his knee. "Hey. D'you..." Jon's not exactly sure how he wants to go about this, since, yeah, he doesn't exactly want to set himself up for his own demise or anything. Diplomacy is required. Diplomacy and being very, very careful when it comes to choosing his words. "Look, if you think you can control it enough to not take more than a pint or so, and it'll help you any, you can, y'know, take a drink off of me. You've been looking pretty anemic lately," he says finally.

Ryan stares at him for a minute, then bursts into laughter. "God, Jon. We're not vampires. I'm not going to drink your fucking blood, so stop saying stupid things."

Jon flushes and ducks his head. He really hates it when Ryan and the others treat him like an idiot just because he's operating with incomplete information since they've never bothered to enlighten him about specific aspects of their demon-ness or whatever it is. "Sorry," he says, a bit more snappish than he intends. "It's just. You look fucking awful, and I don't know if Brendon's said anything to you, but he's worried. I'm just trying to help."

"It's just the land, that's all," Ryan says with a sigh. He turns away from the window, and he looks tired to Jon, practically exhausted. "I've gotten spoiled, being around lush country for so long on tour. It's silly really," Ryan says, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in the ghost of a smirk, "I should be used to it, after so many years in Vegas. But apparently I'm not."

"Lush. You... do best around green things? You're some kind of dryad?" Jon tries. Not long after he found out about the otherworldly origins of the other guys, Jon went out of his way to invest some money in a book on folklore and mythology of the world. He finds it helps to understand what-all Brendon tells him.

"Close, but not quite," Ryan says, his not-quite smirk softening into a genuine not-quite smile. It looks sad, but Jon thinks that might just be because of the general air of depression that's surrounded Ryan for days now. "Dryads are tree spirits. I'm a fossegrimm—a sort of water sprite. We... don't do so well when we're away from running water for too long. We grow depressed. Despondent." He glances out the window again, at the flat, dry landscape that stretches out around them for miles. "We're crossing a river later today. Spencer'll make the driver stop and I'll go twiddle my toes in the water for a bit and I should be better."

"That... explains quite a lot about A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, actually," Jon says, blinking. He's seen some of the bits and pieces of songs that Ryan's been experimenting with over the past few months and nearly all of it is a lot lighter than Panic!'s current set of songs. The result of Ryan having a chance to escape the desert and get closer to water while on tour, Jon supposes.

"Deserts make me emo," Ryan says in a deadpan, which draws a laugh from Jon. "Jon..." Ryan says, resting a hand on Jon's thigh as he starts to rise. "I do appreciate the offer you made, and I understand the effort it took to make it. But also realize that now that you've made it, you can't retract the offer, and I may have to one day take you up on it."

Jon stiffens slightly. "I..." He doesn't know what to say to that. It sounds rather ominous and more than a little creepy.

"As a tip for the future," Ryan adds, squeezing Jon's leg lightly before letting go, "don't make unconditional offers or open-ended promises. They have a tendency to fuck you up in the long run when you're dealing with the otherworldly."

"Right, I should think," Jon says, trying not to trip up over his words as he springs to his feet.

"Look at me, after all," Ryan says with a sigh as he turns his attention back to the landscape outside. "Eighteen years later and I'm still raising a kid that isn't even mine."

* * *

Except for the time that Spencer tried to eat him and Brendon tried to drain him dry, Jon finds that working, traveling, and living with demons isn't all that different from doing the same humans. In some respects it's nicer, Jon decides, because the three demons have much better hygiene than most humans Jon's traveled with—heightened senses, Ryan explains, though Spencer mutters something about Ryan being scary-strict that they bathe at least every other day. "We don't smell quite the same as you do," Brendon explains to Jon at one point. "Most humans don't ever pick up on it, but animals do. It's not fun to walk down the street and have dogs barking at you all the time."

Of the three of them, it seems to Jon that Spencer is the most normal, as long as Jon doesn't take into account Spencer's adolescent anger (Jon's pretty sure that most human teens are pretty much finished with teenage rebellion by eighteen; it wouldn't surprise him in the least if it turns out that demons don't mature at the same rate that humans do). Brendon puts on a good show of humanity, but after spending enough time around him, Jon can tell it's just that, a show. Brendon's a natural performer, he loves playing the gregarious human around the rest of the tour convoy as much as he enjoys playing to the audience when he's on stage. He likes practicing around Jon because Jon will tell him when he has something off, something not quite right.

"You are my favorite, Jon Walker," Brendon says happily. "I used to have to depend on Spencer to tell me this stuff, and _he's_ been under Ryan's influence since, like, birth, so it's not like he can really be trusted when it comes to this kind of stuff."

"Fuck you, Brendon," Spencer says amicably, not looking up from the book he's reading.

"Wait. Ryan raised you?" Jon asks Spencer, a little surprised—he's been under the impression that Ryan's more of a long-time friend than a guardian to Spencer.

"No, I grew up with my dad and his family," Spencer says, frowning at his book. "Ryan's just the creepy old guy from down the street. You realize he's like, seven hundred years old, right? Practically geriatric."

"Six hundred and seventy-two is _not_ geriatric," Ryan says peevishly from his seat by the window. They're in the Great Lakes region at the moment and Ryan's apparently feeling very much in top form. Not that he likes traveling on the bus any more than he normally does. Jon's learned that, as a nature spirit, Ryan prefers to stay outdoors and in contact with the earth if he can't manage to remain in constant contact with some form of natural, free-flowing water. "And you would've never survived this long without my help, Smith. Your father's an alright guy, I suppose, but it isn't as if he—"

"Don't you talk about my dad," Spencer says tightly, gripping his book so hard that Jon can see his fingers turning white.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Why not? It isn't as if you can keep this up forever. It's going to come out sometime that you're—"

"Shut it," Spencer hisses through clenched teeth as he glares daggers at Ryan. "You promised, Ryan. You swore an oath on your waterfall. Don't make me call you on being an oath-breaker." Spencer licks his teeth (sharp teeth, Jon notes with a shiver, the teeth of a carnivore) and dares Ryan with his eyes.

"Right, I think that's enough of that for now," Brendon says suddenly, springing to his feet and moving over to where Ryan is sitting. "Ryan, I think have an idea for how to fix that chord progression you were showing me the other day," he says brightly, taking Ryan's arm and tugging him off to the back lounge, leaving Jon alone with Spencer.

Jon hesitates, then says, "Look, I don't know what the issue is between Ryan and your dad, but he shouldn't have said that."

Spencer gives Jon a look that clearly asks whether Jon is for real, then lets out a bark of cutting, harsh laughter. "Fuck. You really don't have a clue as to what you've gotten yourself into, do you? To you we're just a bunch of freaks in a band," Spencer says bitterly, staring down at his book. He's punched through the pages with his claws, and he takes several deep, calming breaths as the coarse hair on his arms and neck retreats and disappears.

"Well," Jon says cautiously, "it's my experience that pretty much everyone in a band falls under the definition of 'freak.' You lot are just a bit more unusual than most, I suppose. For one thing, you bathe regularly—that's pretty damned freakish for boys in bands."

"It's not." Spencer sighs and stares down at his hands as his nails change back to normal (or is it abnormal? Jon still isn't sure which way is "normal" for any of the demons). "They don't like me, you know. Ryan and Brendon. It's. They hate that I'm weaker than them, but I still have power over them."

This is news to Jon—no one ever tells him anything straight-forward about the relationship between Spencer and the other two. Everything Jon knows he garners from vague statements and half-told truths. "Is that so?" Jon says, keeping his voice steady and even. It's the best tone to use with the other guys, particularly around Spencer, who can be set off so easily. Jon really doesn't want to look down and find Spencer attached to his arm again.

"I named them. I mean." Spencer laughs again, but this time it's mischievous and sly rather than bitter and derisive. "You don't really think they'd have names like 'Ryan' and 'Brendon' where they came from, do you? Ryan's Norwegian, Brendon's African, and Brent was from the Philippines. It's... Names have power," Spencer says, his expression suddenly sober. "For some creatures more than others. Ryan—if someone speaks his true name to him, it'll kill him. He told me to choose a name for him when I was little, and I named him that. Brendon and Brent didn't really have names when they came to Vegas, so I named them, too. It gives me power over them, being the one who named them."

Jon's heard of names having power, and he's pretty sure he remembers reading something along the lines of speaking a fossegrimm's name aloud gives one power over them. "Is Ryan the one who named you, then?" It would make sense after all—Spencer giving Ryan that kind of power over him exchange for allowing Spencer to name him.

"What? No, of course not. My father named me," Spencer says, snorting.

* * *

Jon supposes it was really only a matter of time before he found himself in a situation like this one. Particularly since the other guys _told_ him that they get called on to do Pete's dirty work sometimes. Still. He thinks this is a little over the top. Just a bit.

"You realize this is kinda over the top, right?" he asks his captor, scratching the side of his nose and shoving his hands in his pockets. She had him cuffed at the start, but after Jon reassured her that he didn't have any special training or powers or anything she'd been willing to dispense with the restraints. "They're just my coworkers. I make a very, very poor hostage."

"Aha! So you admit to being in collusion with them," the woman says, striking a triumphant pose. She's a stick of a thing, so spindly that she makes Ryan look positively well-fed. Jon wonders if she's a demon as well; he's pretty sure that if a human tried to be that thin they'd collapse under their own weight.

He sighs. "Look, I'm human," he begins, but the woman waves that away.

"Humanity means nothing. Many humans are more powerful than youkai in terms of pure ability. Myself, for example," she says in an imperious manner.

"Youkai?" Jon asks as he reworks his previous assessment of what sorts of rigors the human body is capable of withstanding. Maybe her spirit power is keeping her together; Jon's pretty sure that Pete's spirit power is the only thing that's kept Patrick from killing him (again) so far.

"You call them 'demons,' I believe." She wrinkles her nose as if she's said something distasteful. Semantics are strange, Jon supposes, and he resolves to ask Ryan about it later. (Assuming he'll survive to do things "later" is the best way to cope with impossible situations such as this one, Jon's found.)

"I'm just your average Joe," Jon insists. "Well, Jon, but yeah. I'm not 'in collusion' with anyone. Sure, I work with the other guys and Pete's my boss, but I'm just a bass player. I don't do any of the other stuff," he explains.

She narrows her eyes, clearly suspicious of him. "Bass player," she says slowly.

"You know they're in a band too, right? Panic! at the Disco?" Jon asks.

"That has to be the most _idiotic_ band name I've ever—ARGH! _Motherfucker—!_ " she swears when he gets her in the eyes with the pepper spray. She falls silent soon enough afterwards, though, when Jon brings a heavy glass paperweight down hard on the back of her head.

"Say what you like about demons and powers," Jon says as he lowers her unconscious body to the floor, plucking the ring of keys from her limp hand, "but no one talks smack about my band."

Unsurprisingly, a large, ostentatious-looking key unlocks the door to the room. It's just what Jon would expect from the woman. After he has the door unlocked he's about to leave, when he thinks better of that, turns back, and snaps the handcuffs that were holding him earlier around the woman's wrists before heading out into the rest of the building. It seems that the woman's headquarters is an old house that's been converted into some sort of office building. Jon runs into some rather odd-looking guys in suits and they clearly don't expect Jon to be any kind of threat, either because he's human or because he appears to be unarmed. He isn't sure which.

Like the woman, like Spencer, these guys have obviously never thought to consider that someone might try to come after them with anything so mundane and non-lethal as pepper spray and a paperweight. Jon's thankful for that—their confusion buys him enough time to easily spray them and knock them out.

He's sitting on the front porch, trying to decide if it's worth it to take the car he found in the house's garage (knowing his luck at the moment, he'd probably not only get lost trying to escape, but also get pulled over by a cop for driving a stolen vehicle), when a large shadow passes over him. Glancing up, Jon sees a giant black and white bird fly in one of the upstairs windows. There's a streak of crimson on its head and it has something huge and hairy clutched in its talons. Jon shivers—he _definitely_ doesn't want to get on that thing's bad side. Which means it's probably time for him to hightail it out of here, cops and luck be damned.

It isn't until he gets to the car that he discovers that, despite having a ring of umpteen-odd keys, he does not, in fact, have the key to the car. The woman must keep it with a different set, or have a driver, or something, because all the keys on Jon's ring are for places in the building, rather than for a car. Which means if he wants to make a quick get-away, he needs to go back in the building and risk running into that bird thing. Jon really isn't looking forward to doing that. He also isn't looking forward to waiting around until the bird thing finds him, though, so he throws caution to the wind and sneaks through the door connecting the garage to the house.

He nearly steps on a body. It's a demon, clearly, the paper-white skin and the teal hair give it away, as do the pointed ears, but it's also stone-cold and soaked to the skin, and something tells Jon that, while the pale white skin is probably natural, the faint bluish cast to it is not. He gulps. Not a normal death, he thinks, because the guy's gotta be dead since there's no movement, not even from breathing. Jon eases out his pepper spray, thumbs off the safety, and briefly considers grabbing a knife from the block sitting on a nearby counter. In the end he doesn't, for the same reason why he decided to stick with the paperweight when making his way out of the building. Fresh blood attracts attention, inspires bloodlust. Jon isn't sure if it works with the blood of any creature or if it has to be human blood, but to him it's just not worth the risk. He really doesn't want to do anything that might make any demons that are after him even more psychotic. To him that just seems like a bad idea.

After a fruitless search of the corpse's pockets for car keys, Jon creeps out of the kitchen and into the hall. There are two more bodies there, in the same condition as the first, and Jon shivers as he notes the wet trail that meanders past and into the next room. He really, really doesn't want to see what's on the other end of that trail.

Three rooms and four bodies later, Jon practically jumps out of his skin when there's a creaking noise and the bird he saw earlier walks gracefully into the room. Now that he's up close to it, Jon can see that it's entirely stark blacks and whites, that the red he saw earlier is actually sticky blood covering its beak, staining the front of its chest. Jon's been taking down demons all afternoon with just pepper spray and a paperweight, he should be tough, but now his mouth has gone dry, his throat is closing up, and he's truly, honestly freaking the fuck out. The bird opens its beak and Jon knows he should be aiming with the spray, but his arms can't remember how to work, his brain can't—

"Jonny Walker, there you are! Where in the world have you been hiding?" Brendon's voice says, and for one crazy moment Jon has this sick feeling that Brendon's gone and gotten himself swallowed whole and he's speaking to Jon from beyond the grave, or at least from the bird's stomach, but.

"...Brendon?" Jon asks a bit shakily, cautiously lowering the hand holding the paperweight. He hadn't even realized he'd lifted it, made ready to lob it. "Fuck, is that you?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry," Brendon's voice says, and the bird... it _shivers_ for a second, and then scaly black legs fill out and turn denim-clad, long flight feathers pull up and gain color, forming the folds of cyan blue sleeves. Where moments before there was a huge, terrifying-looking bird, now there's just Brendon. Brendon looking just like his normal, slightly-dorky self, just as long as Jon ignores the blood staining his face, soaking into his hoodie. "Forgot you weren't used to that form," Brendon says with a smile, stretching.

"What. What are you doing here?"

"We came to rescue you, of course," Brendon says. He plucks at the front of his hoodie and frowns. "Ugh. I hate this. Blood stains like a bitch and I _like_ this jacket. Do you know, it was the oddest thing when we crashed this place? It looked like there'd been in-fighting or something, only some idiot thought it'd work to just conk goons out. I guess that made it easier for us, but it really doesn't seem right, offing them when they're down. I'd rather do it in a fight, even if it's harder."

Jon's stomach flips as Brendon speaks, and he feels queasy and odd. "You mean you killed all those guys back there? Why the hell did you do that? They were unconscious, they couldn't hurt you!"

"Hmm? Oh, back where you came from? Oh, no, that was Ryan. I'm more a gore or zap kind of guy. Vampiric lightning bird, y'know." Brendon sucks a blood-soaked finger clean and scratches his nose. "And we had to kill them. They took something of ours. We had to set an example or else someone else will think we've gone soft and try to take you again."

And that's the last straw, really. "I'm a person, not a pet," Jon says, voice steely. "I can fucking take care of myself—I was doing just fine here until you three showed up. I don't need to be rescued and I certainly don't need for anyone to be killed in my defense." The keys are a lost cause, he decides. He knows how to pick a lock (or at least break a window) and Tom showed him how to hotwire a car once, it can't be all that difficult. "I'll see you three back at the bus," he growls, turning on his heel and stalking out the door.

* * *

After the kidnapping incident, Jon takes it upon himself to demand hazard pay. Pete tries to give him the run around, but Jon's having none of that and straight-out tells him that it's hazard pay or Pete is totally going to have to spring for some very expensive shrinks a few years down the road when Jon is having nervous breakdowns and anxiety attacks and stuff because of the trauma he's suffered as a result of being a part of Panic! at the Disco. "Hah! See? I _told_ you they were menaces to society," Jon can hear Patrick crow in background. This forces Jon to backup and point out that, actually, it's not the demons that are bothering him but rather their enemies— _Pete's_ enemies.

"I was fine right up until Pete had them do a job for him," Jon says, since if Pete's going to insist on speakerphone, then that means that Jon's going to talk to Patrick just as much as he talks to Pete. What he says is true, mostly. Never mind that most of Jon's nerves at the moment are the result of the unnecessary slaughter that Ryan and the other two engaged in while "rescuing" Jon. And the fact that he's pretty sure the reason Brendon was alone downstairs at the building when they ran into each other was that Spencer and Ryan were busy dividing and devouring the woman upstairs.

Jon gets his hazard pay, but it doesn't reassure him the way it should—he still feels more uneasy and increasingly uncomfortable around the rest of his band. It probably doesn't help that neither Brendon nor Ryan seem to feel that there was anything wrong with they way they handled the rescue attempt. Spencer, on the other hand... Jon doesn't notice at first, since he pretty much avoids the others as much as he can following the incident, but Spencer's just as uncomfortable around Jon as Jon is around the demons in his band. It's odd, Jon thinks, since the impression he's been given by Ryan and Brendon has been that demons have little to no conscience. They feel honor and pride, yes, but guilt seems almost completely alien to them. Curious, Jon corners Spencer and calls him on it.

"You've been avoiding me," Jon says.

Spencer flushes slightly and shrugs. "No. No, I haven't," he says, but his voice cracks the way it does when he's nervous, when he's lying.

"You've been avoiding me since the hostage thing," Jon says evenly. He isn't angry or accusatory, just... curious.

"I told them we didn't need to kill them," Spencer blurts out suddenly, cheeks pink and expression earnest. "I mean. The woman, she brought them over through an illegal gate, and she _had_ killed nearly a dozen humans and was planning on taking out at least three hundred more, but they. They were just doing the jobs they'd been hired to do, and they weren't a threat. I _told_ Ryan," Spencer insists.

"Hey," Jon says. He takes a step forward and settles his hands on Spencer's arms. Spencer jerks away slightly, though he just as quickly settles once more. "Hey," Jon says again. "I believe you. Really."

"I just. Usually they're trying to kill us just as much as we're trying to kill them, and I get that, okay? It's self-defense then. But that. That was just wholesale slaughter. Only Ryan said we had to set an example so that no one would try and take you again, and. I didn't want you to get hurt," Spencer says.

Jon winces. Somehow hearing that Spencer agreed to kill helpless people just to ensure Jon's safety is worse than knowing that Ryan and Brendon did it to defend their pride. Still. It's strange that the killing appears to bother Spencer as much as it does. "You're different than the other two," Jon observes, and his words cause Spencer to flinch.

"No, I'm not. I'm, I'm just the same, we're all three of us the same," Spencer insists, but Jon smiles, pleased by this new discovery.

"You care about people, about what happens to them," Jon says, still smiling, because Spencer _does_ care. When Brendon worries about Ryan when they haven't come near running water for a while, it's a vague kind of worry that has more to do with Brendon fretting over how Ryan's despondency will affect Brendon rather than any worry for Ryan himself. Spencer's the one who reroutes the driver, who tells him to stop so that Ryan can go out and spend some quality time dipping his toes in a brook. Jon knows that when Spencer does it, it's because he's worried about Ryan's health and well-being. Spencer's worry is definitely different than Brendon's, Jon can tell.

"You're wrong, I'm not any different," Spencer says stiffly, pulling away from Jon and fixing him with an cool glare. "I don't give a damn. I'm just the same as them."

* * *

It is only through a string of unlikely events that Jon begins to have an understanding of what, exactly, Spencer's deal is. The string starts, strangely enough, with Ryan and Brendon calling on Jon to help them rob Pete and Patrick's boss in the spirit world.

Spencer's off doing Spencer things (Brendon says this consists of Spencer hiding in his bunk, sulking because he's having a hard time keeping his human form and he doesn't want to scare Jon with his demon self. "Spencer actually looks like a giant teddy bear with really sharp teeth and claws," Brendon confides, "but Ryan and I haven't got the heart to tell him.") and Brendon's eying Jon's coffee in a predatory manner when Ryan comes in with a sheaf of papers in his hand and an earnest look on his face. Jon steels himself for more depressing lyrics about fictitious childhood traumas.

"I think I've— Jon, give Brendon your coffee, I need him awake for this," Ryan says. Jon wants to protest that Ryan's emo songs of water deprivation make just as much sense when you're half-asleep like Brendon is at the moment as they do when you're completely awake. Then he notices that Ryan is tense and alert, and it occurs to Jon that Washington state really doesn't have a lack of running water, so maybe Ryan actually has something good to give them. Sighing, Jon pushes his cup into Brendon's pathetic little grabby hands.

"You wouldn't be so tired if you didn't stay out so late," Jon remarks. Brendon gives him a dirty look and grumbles something harsh and nasty under his breath about stupid drummers trying to save the world in the middle of the night, and Jon decides that maybe that's something he should just leave off investigating until some later date.

Ryan taps his foot impatiently until Brendon sets down the now-empty cup, yawns, and stretches. "Alright, alright, I have caffeine in me—what's up?" Brendon asks at last.

Sparing Jon a quick glance, Ryan thrusts the papers in Brendon's face. "I think I've finally got a feasible plan for breaking into the main office of the spirit plane," he says, voice and expression deadly serious.

"Oh, awesome," Brendon says, picking up the papers and skimming over them with a keen togetherness he completely lacked only moments earlier. "So you figured out how we can get around the safeguards on the entr— There's a side-door? Ah, for deliveries. Huh. That's convenient," he mutters to himself as he flips through.

"...wait, what's going on?" Jon demands, confused by the behavior of both demons.

As is typical of them whenever anything interesting is going on, they both ignore him. "It's a simple in-and-out operation. We already have the clearance to be there officially, since we've been subcontracted," Ryan says.

"These are the same people who've been trying to get us killed or shipped back to the demon plane for ages now. I hardly think they're going to let us waltz right in, Ryan." Brendon says skeptically. "Not to mention how paranoid they are about demons ever since that thing with the guys from Japan a few years back. They'd strip-search us at the world gate—it'd never work."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Yes, Brendon, I _know_. Good thing I know how to set up my own gate, hm?"

"See now that might actually mean something if it weren't for the fact that opening an unauthorized gate to the spirit plane is just _asking_ for the heavies to come down on you. They monitor the fabric between planes just to prevent that kind of thing, idiot."

"Oh, you can't know that for sure—"

"No, I can. Because some of us have actually been looking into what kinds of things might be security problems with this whole escapade."

" _Anyway_ , all that won't be an issue because we won't be the ones taking it," Ryan says, dismissing Brendon's worries with a wave of his hand.

Brendon's eyes widen with surprise. "We won't? Ryan, Spencer will never—"

"Not Spencer," Ryan says with a smirk. "Jon."

Jon, who's been busy eating breakfast and pretending to not pay any attention to Ryan and Brendon for the past ten minutes, jerks when he hears his name. "What? I haven't agreed to do anything, leave me out of your crazy plans."

"You'll want to do this," Ryan reassures Jon. "It's to help Spencer."

"Yeah, no," Brendon says before Jon can reply to that. "Jon's got no spiritual power, no training, no _anything_. The security guys for the spirit plane'll crush him in five seconds flat. No offense, Jon."

"He's also been the unfortunate victim of psychological trauma as a result of incompetence on the parts of two spirit plane employees," Ryan says. "It's completely within his rights to demand compensation from the head office."

"Three," Jon corrects automatically. In spite of his uneasiness with the questionable legality of whatever Ryan and Brendon are planning, Jon likes the sound of the word "compensation." Sure, Pete's giving him hazard pay now, but the sneaky bastard went and made it so that it's not retroactive. "Three employees." Jon can totally count.

"No, it's two. Pete and Patrick are the only ones officially employed by the spirit plane. We're subcontractors," Brendon says distractedly. "Wait, Ryan. Let me see if I've got this straight—you've been trying to think of a way to swipe this for the past ten years, and now we're just going to send Jon in and have him get it for us legally? As compensation for Pete and Patrick screwing up? _Sweet_." The grin on Brendon's face can't really be described as anything other than manic.

The look Ryan gives Brendon is the one he reserves for people when they're being particularly stupid. "No, of course not. It's worth way more than any compensation Jon's earned. He'd have to bear to witness his entire clan being murdered before his eyes and get tortured some more after that for them to be willing to fork it over to him as compensation. But compensation _will_ get him into the treasury so he can palm it. And they won't think to search him for it when he's leaving because they won't think to view him as a threat."

"I'm not stealing anything for you," Jon says stubbornly. His parents raised him to be an honest man, after all. Not to mention that it just seems like a bad idea to steal from supernatural entities of any sort, whether they happen to be individuals or entire bureaucratic systems. _Especially_ bureaucratic systems.

Brendon gives him a pained look. "It's not for _us_ , Jon Walker," he says, "it's for _Spencer_. Don't you want to make Spencer happy?"

"I don't know. You already said that Spencer wouldn't be willing to steal it for you, which gives me the impression that he wouldn't exactly approve of this whole thing," Jon says skeptically. Yeah, he likes Spencer well enough, thinks he's an alright kid, but Jon also doesn't want to do anything to piss him off. Near as Jon can tell, Spencer's some kind of vicious hairy beast thing. Sure, Ryan might drown Jon if he gets pissed, and Brendon might drain his body of all its blood, but Jon _really_ isn't keen on being ripped to shreds while still alive and conscious. Ouch.

"Spencer is stubborn and would just insist that he doesn't need it," Ryan says with a dismissive shrug. "That's the only reason he'd refuse to take it."

"No, sorry, not going to be pissing off any scary otherworldly governments here," Jon obstinately insists.

"It isn't as if you'd be taking anything they're using, or like you'll be using it to hurt anyone," Ryan cajoles. "If anything, you'll be putting it to a good use."

Jon snorts. "If taking this thing is such a good deed, why don't you just ask them for it?" he asks.

"The spirit plane is... leery of demons these days. There was an incident with a trio of demons stealing some rather important artifacts from their treasury a decade or so ago," Ryan explains. "The demons used the artifacts for evil—killing people, consuming souls, that sort of thing—and it really pissed off the ruler of the spirit plane. He wouldn't trust us if we approached him about this, if we could even get as far as asking. Spencer might have a better chance of being believed, but he wouldn't ever ask, since he thinks he doesn't need it."

Alright, for better or for worse, Jon's curiosity is piqued now. "What is this thing exactly?" he asks. "What does it do?"

"It's a... a sort of magical charm," Brendon says, making fiddly gestures with his hands as if to try and show what it's like. Ryan sighs and turns over one of the papers from his plans, pulls a pen from somewhere, and draws a quick sketch. It looks like a marble on a funky kind of bracelet, not like anything that warrants ten years' worth of elaborate plans on Ryan's part. "As for what it does, well, it's..." Brendon falters, biting his lip and glancing at Ryan.

"It strengthens an individual's existing abilities. Lets them come into their own. If Spencer had this, it wouldn't matter that he's... not yet full-grown," Ryan explains, hesitating slightly as he speaks, and Jon's pretty sure that Ryan's not telling the whole story, that he changed what he was going to say part-way through.

"So it's like a magical steroid," Jon says. "This is not in the least bit reassuring or encouraging. Has it occurred to you that when Spencer says he doesn't need you looking after him, he really means it? That it's actually _true_?" Sometimes Jon wonders if Ryan ever really hears the things Spencer tells him.

"I swore an oath to—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know about your mysterious 'oath' to protect Spencer from the big scary world. What, did his dad think it wouldn't be safe for him to go on tour or something?" Jon asks waspishly. It's unfair of him to be angry with Ryan about this, he knows it is, but he's annoyed with Ryan's constant plots and schemes to safeguard Spencer from nonexistent boogeymen.

"His mother, actually," Ryan says, flushing slightly and glancing away.

Brendon snickers. "It's hilarious, seriously. Ryan wanted into her pants, but she was scared of getting pregnant, so he swore that if she had a kid, he'd support it. He likes grand gestures."

Which is something Jon already knew about Ryan— wait a minute. Did Brendon just say what Jon thinks he said? Because if he did, then that would mean that— "You're Spencer's father?!" Jon gasps, unable to keep the horror out of his voice.

Ryan gives him a sour look. "No, of course not. It turned out that she wasn't ovulating or something at the time. I didn't impregnate her." Because only Ryan would say that instead of, _No, I didn't knock her up._

"But then why—"

"And that is why you should always be very specific when making offers to otherworldly beings, whether you're human, demon, or something else entirely," Ryan says. "I said I'd care for her first-born, but I didn't bother to specify that I'd only do it if it was _my_ child. We have a month-long fling and three centuries later she tracks me down, shoves a baby at me, and tells me she's calling on me to fulfill my oath to her."

"Hey, but. Spencer's said you didn't raise him," Jon says, frowning. He does pay attention to this stuff.

"I didn't," Ryan says, shrugging. "His mother said she had no interest in keeping a weakling, but that its father might, so I came over to the human plane and looked the guy up. He took one look at the baby and decided he wanted to keep it—no surprise there, you humans are sentimental sops—so he and I worked out a deal where we both raised the kid. When Spencer was four, his dad married some chick and I moved out so they could all play happy families."

It's a lot of information to process (how could Spencer's mother just give him up? Jon wonders), and Jon nearly misses the most salient point of it all. But Jon has a knack at picking apart information, dissecting it so as to pull out the most important parts, so while it's a near miss, Jon doesn't fail to notice it. "Wait. Spencer's dad is human?"

Complete silence suddenly descends on the bus's kitchenette. Brendon is giving Ryan a horrified look. "Uh," Ryan says, his face the blank mask he adopts when he's actually panicking on the inside. Jon's only seen it a handful of times before—Ryan doesn't panic easily—but even he can tell that Ryan is seriously freaking the fuck out.

There's a loud _whump!_ from the direction of the bunks, the sound of something soft and heavy landing, and suddenly Spencer's standing in the doorway, a low, dangerous growl rumbling up from the back of his throat. At least, Jon _thinks_ it's Spencer. Probably. Since there's no one else besides the four of them on the bus at the moment. Jon's never seen Spencer fully transformed before, just bits and pieces of him, and while Jon's absolutely terrified of what's before him (huge, hairy bear-man-beast thing, baring steel-grey, razor-sharp teeth while iron claws grip at the wall of the bus, punching through metal like it's tissue paper), a part of him is absolutely enchanted by the sight. Where Spencer is normally gangly and awkward, obviously uncomfortable with his teenage growth, right now he moves with a confidence that Jon's only ever seen in him when Spencer's sitting behind his kit, sticks in his hands. And heaven help Jon, but fuck, Brendon was _right_ — Spencer is absolutely _adorable_ like this. Like an over-sized, demonic teddy bear. If it weren't for the pointy parts that are currently very much visible and on display, Jon would totally cuddle Spencer right now.

"You _swore_ ," Spencer snarls at Ryan, lisping slightly around his sharp teeth. "You swore you wouldn't tell, Ryan, and you did. Fucking _oath-breaker_." Spencer tightens his hand, and the metal wall crumples in his fist. Beside Jon, Brendon winces and Ryan sighs.

"Could you maybe make some attempt to not destroy the bus if you're going to throw a tantrum? It's quite difficult to try and explain the damage." Ryan sounds calm and only vaguely peeved, but Jon can see the stiffness in his spine, the tightness around his mouth, the fear in his eyes. Though the revelation of Spencer's lineage seems like such a small, inconsequential thing to Jon, it's clearly something of immense importance to Spencer.

"Brendon." Jon says it quietly, but it still sounds too loud to his ears in tense silence of the room. "Why don't you and Ryan go see about buying me another coffee? Since he made me give you mine."

Grabbing Ryan's arm, Brendon practically leaps to his feet. He shoots Jon a grateful look over his shoulder as he tugs Ryan out the door, and it's plain that he's relieved that Jon has chosen to take the matter in hand and is offering Brendon an easy out. Jon knows Brendon doesn't deal with stuff like this well. Knows that, between Ryan's feigned nonchalance and Spencer's open, barely-checked rage, things would've quickly grown ugly had Ryan stayed.

"You didn't have to do that," Spencer sneers. "I could've taken him."

Taking a deep breath, Jon does the bravest thing he's done since offering Ryan his blood a month and a half ago. He stands, closes the distances between himself and Spencer, and places a hand on Spencer's arm. "I never thought you couldn't," he says soothingly. "I wasn't so sure about Ryan, though. Or the bus."

"I'm not weak," Spencer says, but it's less like a protest and more a plea.

"Of course you're not," Jon agrees, rubbing Spencer's arm, calming him down. It's the first time Jon's ever touched him like this, and though the hair (fur, really, he realizes now) looks coarse and rough, it's surprisingly soft. Like a kitten's.

"My mother thought I was," Spencer whispers, voice harsh. "She didn't want the burden of raising a feeble little freak, so she gave me away."

"She didn't give you away, Spencer. She entrusted you to Ryan because she knew he'd look after you. If she really didn't care, she would've abandoned you." Or eaten him, since that seems to be what demons do with people they don't want anymore. Witness Brent, after all. "Is it really that bad, being half-human?"

Spencer blinks at him and laughs. "Oh. Oh, Jon Walker, you are _priceless_."

"What? What did I say?"

"Only _you_ would—" Spencer smiles, practically lights up and the fur melts away from his face. "It's just. To humans who know about it, I'm half-demon, so they want nothing to do with me. To demons, I'm half-human and weak. But you, you just..."

Jon smiles and shrugs. "It's just genetics. You're the only one who decides whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, I think. So you identify with your human side sometimes—so what? Sometimes that can be pretty useful. And as for being weak, well. You're way stronger than I'll ever be, and strong enough that Ryan and Brendon were seriously freaking out when you popped up. There is no way you can fake the kind of panicking they were doing."

Sighing, Spencer slumps against Jon, collapsing into him. Jon wraps his arms around him, supporting him, rubbing his back. "I'm not really that strong," Spencer mumbles, voice slightly muffled by the fact that his face is pressed up against Jon's shoulder. "My control is off and stuff."

"I don't know," Jon says as he gives up all pretense of rubbing and instead just pets the silky-soft fur covering Spencer's back, "you haven't killed Ryan or Brendon yet. I think that shows a remarkable degree of control."

Spencer's soft laughter quickly turns into a contented purr as Jon starts scratching his back, and Jon relaxes as well. These guys may be a bit unconventional, but Jon thinks he finally gets them. Really, when you get down to it, they're not all that different from anyone else Jon knows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something about Tom.

About six months after replacing Panic! at the Disco's bass player (because the rest of the band _ate him_ —Jon still can't get over that, no matter how hard he tries), Jon gets a call from Tom. In some ways, he's kind of been both anticipating and dreading it, in other ways he doesn't even expect it, because it's _Tom_ , how could anyone not love him?

"Hey, yeah, so. Um. The other guys, they kind of— Uh. Can I hang with you for a while, Jonny? Just until I. Yeah." Tom laughs nervously, and he sounds drained and tired and, worst of all, scared. Jon sometimes really hates that he can't reach out across a phone connection to give someone a much-needed hug.

Six months ago, Jon would have said screw his band and told Tom yes straight away, because there's an understanding between them both, and as important as one's band is, there are some things that are more important. Six months ago, however, Jon wasn't in a band with a group of people-eating demons. "You know I wanna say yes, man," he says apologetically, "but I gotta check with the other guys first." He loves Tom like a brother, after all, he doesn't need the other guys eating his best friend. It'd make for horrible intra-band dynamics, if nothing else.

"Right. Yeah. Good call," Tom says, and Jon silently curses Bill and the rest of The Academy Is... for whatever they've done that's put Tom so on edge.

"I'll call you right back," Jon promises. " _Right back_. Don't do anything drastic, okay?"

"'kay."

Jon ends the call, shoves his phone in his pocket, then heads off to find the rest of his band. Thankfully, Brendon's made it easy for him by gathering everyone together in the back lounge for, "Quality band-bonding and social indoctrination time," which usually means watching Disney movies and (supposedly) using them to learn how to act more "human." Usually Jon joins them, even though he technically doesn't have to, what with actually _being_ human and all.

When Jon pokes his head in, Brendon is curled up around a very furry Spencer and trying to hide his face in Spencer's fuzz, ostensibly to avoid seeing the horrible carnage on screen. Jon thinks Brendon needs to get his priorities straight and to stop freaking out over the part where Aurora pricks her finger _and_ the part where the prince kills the dragon. He coughs, then waits a beat before following it up with a soft, "Hey."

"Jon, Jon, he's killing the dragon again! It's horrible! Some of my best friends are dragons," Brendon wails.

"If it really bothers you so much, write a letter of complaint," Spencer snaps, though he wraps an arm around Brendon and cuddles him closer. The smile of pure glee on Brendon's face as he snuggles up against Spencer does not escape Jon's notice. Seriously, one of these days someone needs to tell Spencer he's a giant teddy bear. Someone who isn't Jon.

He clears his throat. "So, uh. The Academy kicked Tom out," he says without preamble. "It's hitting him really hard, and he's having a difficult time coping, so, I was thinking—would it be alright if he tagged along with us for a bit?" Jon directs his question to the band as a whole, but they all know he's really just asking Ryan.

Brendon perks up immediately. "Oh, dude, Ryan, you have to say yes—it'll be like having a matched set! That'd be so cool!"

"Tom's blond," Spencer points out. "I don't think they'd be matched, exactly."

"Minor details," Brendon insists, flapping a hand. "Besides, don't you know that variety is the spice of life, Spencer Smith?"

Jon squirms uncomfortably. He doesn't complain, really—honestly, the guys have gotten a lot better about it—but it still bothers him that even after six months, they still kind of think of him as a pet. He knows it's something they do without thinking, that it has more to do with how they see humanity in general, but it still leaves him feeling awkward at times.

"He's not a pet, Brendon," Ryan says, and Jon grins at him, grateful for the support. Only then Ryan glances at Jon, a look of absolute seriousness on his face, and says, "If he tags along, he's your responsibility, Walker. You have to pick up after him and keep track of him, we're not going to do it for you."

"Tom's an adult, he doesn't need someone to..." Though, okay, yeah, maybe Ryan has a point—Tom did sound pretty out of it on the phone. Jon coughs. "So, uh. You're okay with another human around? You realize if he's around, that means you have to actually be, y'know, human-y all the time." He can't help but give Spencer a nervous glance at this. Since discovering that Jon isn't about to freak out over his more, ah, furry form, Spencer's been a lot more relaxed about wandering around the bus in various states of fuzziness, generally clad in only a pair of boxers. Brendon's explained to Jon that between puberty and his human genetics, Spencer has a harder time controlling his appearance than other, older demons, so it fluctuates frequently. Spencer can maintain human form for long periods of time when necessary, but it's stressful and makes him more likely to lash out at people and things.

Jon thinks that Spencer might blanch beneath his fur, but if he does it passes quickly, because by the time he's changed back to normal he's wearing his usual expression of bitchy nonchalance. "I did thirteen years of school without anyone suspecting I was anything less than one hundred percent human, Walker," he says, shrugging a shoulder and pointedly ignoring Brendon's squawk of dismay over losing his furry pillow. "I hardly think one human is going to present me with any problems."

"You guys can't treat him like a midday snack either," Jon warns, because having his band eat his best friend? Really not on Jon's to-do list.

Ryan gives him a disdainful look. "Jon, please. We can only eat the people Pete tells us we can eat, and I doubt he's going to give us permission to eat Tom any time soon."

"Just making sure," Jon says before pulling out his phone and calling Tom back. "Hey, Tom? Yeah, I spoke with the guys and they're fine with you tagging along for a bit. How soon can you fly out?"

* * *

Three days after calling, Tom joins them somewhere in the mid-west. Jon's excited and worried and scared all at once. Excited to see and hang out with Tom, worried about how Tom's doing, scared the other guys will slip up and eat his best friend. Or terrify him out of his mind.

On the way to the airport to pick Tom up, Jon can't help but let his nervousness show. "Remember, best behavior," he tells Spencer, who rolls his eyes but nods nevertheless.

"We _are_ capable of acting human on a regular basis, believe it or not," Spencer says.

"We're really good at it," Brendon agrees, practically vibrating with excitement in his seat. Usually he'd be sparking left and right with barely-contained eagerness, and it doesn't escape Jon's notice that Brendon's reining himself in already. Jon's about to tell Brendon he appreciates the effort when a stray bolt causes Jon's hair to stand on end and Brendon looks slightly chagrined. "Well. Ryan and Spencer are really good at it," Brendon amends with a grimace. "Brent was too, except for the randomly eating groupies thing."

Jon gives him a skeptical look and Brendon shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"It's just static electricity," Ryan says dryly. "I wouldn't worry about it, Walker."

Brendon beams at Ryan in response to this, and yeah, Jon's not even going to touch that whole mess because it still freaks him out. Jon was taught from an early age that electricity and water shouldn't mix, and he's pretty damned sure that whatever it is Ryan and Brendon have been up to lately, it _can't_ be safe. What's more, he's noticed that he's not the only one who's careful to avoid stepping in the puddles of water that've been forming on the floor around Brendon's bunk of late—Spencer and Zack have been just as just as cautious. Jon'll have to warn Tom about that, though god knows how he's going to explain it.

In his seat behind the wheel, Zack grunts. At the next red light he turns around and fixes the boys in the back of the van with a look. "Anything happens to Conrad and I won't hesitate to slap wards on all three of your sorry asses," he warns.

"Oh, hey, I'm sure that won't be—" Jon begins to say, but apparently Zack's not done speaking.

"And if there is even _one_ attempt to eat him, I'll deport the transgressor myself, I don't care if blood hasn't even been drawn."

Over his shoulder, Jon can see the three demons sit up straighter at this threat, and there's a chorus of sharp "Yes, sir!"s in response, completely free of mockery. Jon doesn't know where Pete found Zack, but he does know that the big guy has enough psychic power to keep the Panic demons in line most of the time and enough training to create limit wards when they don't behave. Ryan claims the wards are more an itchy annoyance than anything else, but Jon's seen the angry red welts Spencer gets from those little bits of paper, seen that they continue to last and be sensitive for weeks after the wards have been removed. He has no idea if Ryan and Brendon respond just as badly to the wards, if Spencer's reaction is worse because he's not a full demon, but even so, it's still enough to make Jon's gut twist in knots, leaving him feeling queasy and unbalanced.

Zack's offered to make Jon a few wards to carry around with him, but Jon's firmly told him no each time, determined to stick with his pepper spray. At least he knows the chemicals don't have any magical properties that will keep the demons' naturally-accelerated healing abilities from working properly. Years of cat ownership have taught Jon that a quick squirt with a spray bottle is just as effective as a swift kick in side, and certainly more humane.

"That said, I really hope I don't have to do either," Zack concludes, because even though he acts all tough, Jon knows Zack would be seriously upset if he ever had to deport any of the guys. Jon's pretty sure Zack has covered up for his charges in the past, despite the fact that his job is just as much to protect the rest of the world from the demons of Panic as it is to protect the band.

When they get to the airport, Jon's momentarily at a loss for words, because, yeah, Tom sounded bad on the phone, but Jon never expected him to look like an absolute wreck. Tom doesn't so much look like a guy who's been kicked out of his band as he looks like the main character of a horror flick about fifteen minutes from the end, after he's spent the past hour and a half running from monsters and fearing for his life.

"Jonny...?" Tom asks nervously, giving Jon a tentative smile as he hefts his bag. He glances back over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure there's no one following him.

"Shit, man," Jon says, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides and pulling Tom into a tight hug. "What the hell? You're a _mess_."

Tom practically breaks down as soon as Jon's arms close around him, and Jon's left rubbing his back and murmuring quiet reassurances to him. Over Tom's shoulder, Jon can see Brendon bouncing eagerly on the balls of his feet, clearly anxious to bowl Tom over and hit him with a dozen or more questions. Jon's more than a little grateful for Spencer, who apparently understands humans well enough to know that now's the time to hold Brendon back.

"I need to. Later, when it's just you and me, Jonny, I need to talk to you," Tom says in a hushed, desperate tone as Jon loosens his grip and they start walking towards the other guys.

"Hey, whatever you need, man," Jon reassures him, struggling to keep a frown off his face. He's not happy with this, not happy at all, and a part of him is already making plans to call Bill and the rest of the Academy guys and to demand an explanation. Jon trusted them to look after Tom, and this, this is not a man who's been looked after properly.

"Yeah, okay," Tom says. "It's just. I think I'm going crazy. It was—I was constantly on edge, and Butcher—I couldn't. It was the right thing to do," he concludes, "kicking me out."

It's pretty much the last thing Jon expected to hear from Tom, and he wants to call him on it, but Brendon can't be restrained any longer and he's bounding over, all limbs and enthusiasm and the occasional small spark of escaped electricity, though Jon's pretty sure he only sees the last because he knows what to look for. "Later," Jon promises as Brendon descends on Tom, dispensing hugs and reassuring words and crowing about how, "We are going to treat you _so good_ , Tom Conrad—Jon has us all broken in for you already and everything!"

* * *

It takes a few days for Tom to relax and feel comfortable enough to open up to Jon and talk about whatever it is that's bothering him. That's fine with Jon, who has his own settling in to do. Namely, getting back into the groove of having someone around who knows him as well as Tom does.

The second day Tom's with them, Ryan gives Jon a queer look and says, "You and Conrad are awfully close."

"Well, yeah. Best friends," is Jon's ready reply. "Thought you knew that."

Ryan frowns and nods. "Just... You both seem to know each other very well."

Jon rolls his eyes. "You and Spencer don't own the rights to the weird near-psychic friend thing."

"No, I suppose not," Ryan agrees, still frowning. Whatever, Jon thinks. Ryan's the one who's dating a horse, he's in no place to pass judgment on what-all Jon and Tom get up to together.

("She's not a horse," Ryan insisted. "She's a kelpie. There's a difference."

"Whatever, man. Don't get me started on you and your bestiality kink," was Jon's reply, his mind straying to Spencer's birth mom—all signs pointed to her having been some sort of bear. And then there's the matter of Brendon, who's technically some kind bird.)

Jon supposes that for people who aren't used to it, his and Tom's pseudo-psychic connection thing is a bit weird, particularly when they start finishing each other's sentences, cutting in and picking it up in the middle of a word so they both speak in unison for a few short beats. At the same time, Jon finds the fact that Ryan's making a big deal about this now to be a clear indicator of the fact that the Panic boys honestly didn't give a rat's ass about Jon before Pete foisted him off on them and he became "theirs." If they had actually paid attention before Ryan wouldn't be so surprised now—Bill used to bring up Jon and Tom's "freaky mind-reading act" every other day, after all. It's always been something people feel the need to comment on, though Jon's never understood why. It isn't as if what he and Tom do is particularly unique or different—look at Ryan and Spencer, for example. They totally do the same thing where one anticipates what the other wants or needs.

Like how Jon woke up from a sound sleep five minutes ago and knows that his sudden urge to go into the front lounge has nothing to do with a random, five A.M. hankering for something to munch on. He slides onto the bench next to Tom, knocking their shoulders together. "Hey," he says. "Can't sleep?"

Tom's hands are pressed to his eyes, the heels digging in, and he doesn't move them when he starts talking, though he does relax against Jon some. "I don't sleep so well, these days. I have these—these dreams where I'm someone—some _thing_ —else. Sometimes—" He stops and swallows nervously, obviously afraid of what Jon will think of him if he goes on, which is crazy, really. They've pulled some stunts over the years, but Jon doesn't think Tom could ever do anything to make Jon not like him. For one thing, Jon thinks Tom just doesn't have it in him to do anything that bad. For another, Tom always, _always_ has a reason for what he does, and usually Jon can see where he's coming from and at least try to understand.

"'S okay, Tommy," Jon reassures him, reaching over to rub Tom's arm. "Everyone has bad dreams sometimes. But they're just that—dreams. They aren't real, they can't hurt you."

"But sometimes they don't stop or go away when I wake up," Tom says hoarsely. "That's why I had to. I was getting all jumpy, I couldn't sleep, couldn't play, I'd freak the fuck out around Andy all the time and—"

"Wait, wait—what's wrong with the Butcher?"

"Nothing. I mean, probably. I just, I've been having this weird feeling around him lately, like there's something off, or not quite right, or normal, and I have these, I dunno, visions or impressions or—I think I'm having a breakdown or going nuts or something," Tom babbles, finally taking his hands from his eyes and tugging his fingers through his hair, half in frustration, half in desperation.

"...you're having visions about Butcher." Jon tries, but he can't keep his voice completely free of skepticism.

"You don't believe me."

"What? No, I do, really," Jon insists, and he honestly _does_ believe it—this is _Tom_ after all. Plus, Jon's found that he's become a little more open to the abnormal since joining Panic! at the Disco. "What kind of visions?" he asks, trying to sound as encouraging as possible.

"I, um. Well. I kept having these visions about Butcher and I think—god, it sounds crazy when I try to say it aloud, but I was seeing Butcher and this fucking _huge_ bird. It was like... three times the size of an ostrich or something, and it ate people, and the visions seemed to be telling me Butcher _was_ the bird," Tom finishes, apparently oblivious to the fact that Jon's become very, very still beside him.

"...a giant, people-eating bird," Jon says slowly, trying not to freak out inside.

"There was other stuff too, but that was the final straw, really. I couldn't—I just didn't feel safe anymore, y'know? I was all antsy and it was messing up the entire band, so I really couldn't... Yeah," Tom says sadly.

"No giant, people-eating birds here, man," Jon says, and the laugh he forces out quickly dies in his throat when a noise from behind them distracts him. A muffled "thump" that sounds like something lightly glancing off the side of the bus. Or possibly landing on top of it.

"Are we talking about large, man-eating birds again?" Brendon asks brightly as he bounces into view from the front of the bus. "My favorite kind of bird," he happily informs Tom as he collapses onto the bench across from them. "Except for the man-eating part, I mean. Since that's very wrong and not okay," he quickly amends.

Tom cautiously produces a tentative smile. "Hey, Brendon."

"Good evening, Tom Conrad. Or, I suppose I should say 'good morning,' since it's after five." Brendon pauses and yawns. "I haven't been to bed yet, only just got in," he adds, making a face.

"I. We're moving," Tom says with a frown, sounding a bit confused.

Brendon's face goes blank as he realizes his mistake, and Jon blanches because shit, he'd hoped they'd be able to sustain the illusion of normalcy around Tom for longer than just a couple days. Thankfully, Brendon quickly recovers with a laugh and a grin. "I guess I'm more tired than I thought," he says, rolling his eyes. "I meant I'm only just now going to bed. I've been up all night talking to the driver. Did you know he collects stamps? It's really interesting!"

He rambles on about stamps and perforations, Penny Blacks and philatelists, gummed verses ungummed. On the bench beside him, Jon can feel the tension bleeding from Tom as he relaxes. Less than ten minutes later, Tom's breathing evens out and he slumps in his seat, head falling on Jon's shoulder. Brendon's rambles come to an abrupt halt, and he glances at Tom, then at Jon, head tilting to the side like a curious jaybird. "Everything alright?" he asks Jon.

"Not sure," Jon admits. "Hey. Is the Butcher a demon?" Jon's known Andy for years now and has never suspected him of having any sort of supernatural origin. All the same, Jon's known Tom for even longer, and Butcher being a demon seems a lot more believable than Tom going nuts.

"Mrotek? Hell no. He's as human as you. Hasn't even got any spiritual power, the bastard." Brendon glares at the wall just to the right of Jon's head, and Jon belatedly remembers that Brendon has some kind of random, pointless issue with the Butcher. "Why?"

Jon frowns. Part of him wants to tell Brendon what Tom just told him because, hey, who better to ask for advice about giant, people-eating birds than someone who _is_ a huge, demonic bird? At the same time, Tom told Jon about it in the strictest confidence, and Jon isn't about to abuse that trust and start blabbing it about. People questioning his sanity is the last thing Tom needs right now. "Nothing," Jon says, shaking his head.

"Would make my life a hell of a lot easier if Mrotek _was_ a demon," Brendon grumbles as he stands and stretches, yawning. "Fucking drummers. Did you know The Academy Is... is in Maine right now? I am _not_ meant to do cross-country flights in under an hour, ugh. See you at lunch, Jon Walker." He yawns again and wanders sleepily off in the direction of the bunks.

Sometimes Jon wonders if Brendon would make any more sense if he were human. Sadly, Jon doesn't think he would.

* * *

"The Butcher isn't a giant, human-eating bird," is the first thing Jon says when Tom is once again among the awake and aware, nearly twelve hours after he fell asleep to Brendon's babblings.

Tom laughs nervously and half-smiles at Jon. "I. I know—it's insane to even consider it might be true, I _know_ that. I just..." He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut. "You think I'm nuts."

"Hey, no. That's the last thing on my mind, really. What I _think_ is that you're having these... visions for a reason. Maybe because you were traumatized by Big Bird when you were younger, maybe for some other, more serious reason."

This draws a real, honest laugh from Tom. "Shut up," he says, punching Jon's arm lightly. "I loved _Sesame Street_ when I was a kid."

"You mean you had a crush on what's-her-face, the chick who did sign language," Jon teases.

"Whatever, man. You did too." Jon can't argue with that—Tom knows all of Jon's darkest secrets. Well, except for the ones about Jon's band, but Jon quickly pushes that thought out of his head in order to focus on the topic at hand. "What kind of more serious reasons?" Tom asks curiously.

"Like, I dunno, maybe a giant bird is going to attack Butcher. Which... huh, could be what's going on, actually, since Brendon has some sort of issue with the guy," Jon says thoughtfully.

Tom frowns. "What has Brendon got to do with huge, evil birds?"

"Er. Nothing, not a thing, really," Jon says quickly, realizing his mistake too late. He has to force himself to bite back his instinctive response that just because it's really fucking big and occasionally partakes in human flesh doesn't automatically make a bird _evil_ , per se. Though... Jon's seen Brendon take a Sharpie to Ryan's face when he's sleeping—he's not entirely sure that Brendon _isn't_ evil. Not that Tom is talking about Brendon, of course. Because there's no way Tom could possibly know that Brendon's a (reformed) human-eating bird. "Maybe the bird is really a metaphor for something else," he suggests to Tom.

"Or maybe Brendon's going to get a giant bird to attack Butcher," Tom says, and Jon grins. If Tom's feeling comfortable enough to make jokes about this, he must be feeling a lot better.

"Why would Brendon be able to summon a big bird?" Jon counters, raising an eyebrow. He supposes there's always the chance that Brendon could have some of his relatives show up and harass Butcher. Only, based on what he's picked up from Ryan, Jon's got the impression that it isn't all that easy to move between this plane and the otherworld where most demons live.

"Well, he's a bit of a bird-brain, isn't he?" Tom asks, and Jon just groans.

"Did you break Jon? Teach me your wondrous ways, Conrad," Spencer says, flopping down next to Tom and cracking his neck.

Jon makes a face. "Ew, Spence, don't do that—it sounds gross." Spencer gives Jon a look and makes as if he's going to do it again, though he leaves off at the last minute—but not before Jon's scrunched up his face and covered his ears.

"I have nothing to teach you, young grasshopper," Tom tells Spencer in a somber tone, promptly ruining the mood by exchanging high-fives with him.

"What were you two nattering on about that you broke Jon?" Spencer asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Whether or not Brendon would summon a giant bird to resolve his issues with the Butcher," Tom says.

Spencer's eyes widen and he gives Jon a sharp look. "Why a bird?" he asks. If Tom notices the carefulness with which Spencer speaks, he gives no sign of it.

"I've been having, uh, dreams about a really big, flesh-eating bird," Tom explains. Spencer nods very seriously.

"Why does Brendon have to be the one summoning the bird? Why can't Butcher be the one doing it?" Spencer asks. "Because, much as I love Brendon, I really doubt anything as cool as a giant bird would come if he tried summoning it."

"Good point," Tom agrees. "But why would Andy summon a bird? Brendon's vendetta is pretty much one-sided."

"Maybe the reason Brendon doesn't like him is because Butcher's summoning this bird," Spencer suggests, only he's not looking at Tom, he's looking at Jon, and oh. Oh. Huh. That... would actually explain a lot about Brendon's late-night adventures and cryptic comments about The Academy Is... Jon files this bit of information away for future consideration.

"What, because Andy can summon one and Brendon can't?" Tom asks with a laugh, oblivious to the silent conversation Spencer's trying to have with Jon with just his eyebrows. Jon has no idea what Spencer's trying to say—he's no Ryan.

"Something like that, yeah," Spencer agrees before turning the conversation to something else entirely.

Later, Jon's artfully dodging an overly-enthusiastic Ryan-armed-with-eyeliner when Spencer comes over and cocks his hip. Jon grins up at him. "What can I do for you, Spencer Smith?"

"Are they really dreams?" Spencer demands.

"What?"

Spencer huffs and blows his bangs out of his eyes. "Tom says he's having dreams about demonic birds and you two just happen to be talking about the Butcher, who's been summoning Brendon to help him fight crime for while now. I want to know if Tom's really having 'dreams' or if he's seen something he shouldn't have."

A liquid arm wraps itself around Jon's torso, effectively pinning Jon's arms to his sides, and Ryan makes a noise of happy triumph as he scrambles onto Jon's lap. Ryan straddles Jon's legs and makes himself comfortable before glancing back at Spencer, frowning. "Conrad knows Brendon's a bird?"

"Andy's summoning Brendon to _fight crime?_ " Jon thinks that's just a bit far-fetched, even for the Panic boys. And Andy. "How can he even summon Brendon in the first place?"

"Magic tattoos. Stop moving and answer Spencer's question," Ryan says, because he honestly expects Jon to hold still while someone goes at his eyes with what is essentially a pointy stick.

"...magic tattoos."

"You'll understand that he prefers to summon a lightning bird over a giant fish. Not that there's anything wrong with fish—some of my favorite relatives are fish—but they're a bit useless on dry land," Ryan says as commits heinous acts Jon's face with his eyeliner pencil.

"How the fuck did Butcher end up with magic tattoos?" Jon demands, doing his best to glare at Ryan, which is pretty damned hard to do when Ryan keeps telling him to close his eyes.

"Skeevy joint run by a kappa in in Tampa," Brendon grumbles as he pushes the door open and steps into the room. "Bastard frog claims he had 'no idea' he was using summoning ink when he did it, but knowing kappas, he probably did it on purpose." He kicks the wall angrily a couple of times, then collapses on the couch next to Jon. "The thing is that it shouldn't even _work_ —Mrotek's got a thunderbird inked on him. It's not even the right _culture_."

"You still haven't answered my question, Walker," Spencer snaps as he lets Brendon tug him closer. ("You're so cuddly, Spencer. Like a me-size teddy bear.") "Has Tom seen something he shouldn't have?"

Jon sighs and wishes Ryan would finish and let him go. "It's private. He told me in strictest confidence," Jon mutters. These guys may be his band, but Tom's still his best friend, and best friend trumps band every time. Plus, Tom is scarily good at figuring out when someone's ratted on him. It's kind of freaky.

Spencer's eyes narrow. "Which means they're not dreams. Fuck."

"Wait, what's going on?" Brendon asks, momentarily distracted from his quest to molest ("— _pet_ , not molest. I just want to appreciate your fuzzy tummy—") Spencer.

"Conrad's apparently claiming that he's having 'dreams' about Mrotek and big, demonic birds," Ryan explains. Jon feels a pressure on his cheek, and normally he doesn't let Ryan do anything beyond outline his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe if Ryan's distracted enough, he'll let the whole Tom thing go. "You've been careful not to let any of the Academy guys see you when you respond to Mrotek's summons?" Ryan asks Brendon, giving him an oddly serious look. Shit, Jon thinks. Maybe this whole thing is a lot more serious than he originally thought.

"What's the worry? They'd think I'm a hallucination if they happened to see me," Brendon says flippantly.

"Brendon—"

Brendon sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm careful, alright? And I never take human form when he calls me—I'm pretty sure he doesn't even realize it's me. He calls me 'Birdy.'"

"He probably knows your markings, though. If Patrick ever asked—" Spencer starts.

"He's not going to ask, okay? And it's not like I'm breaking the law or anything. Mostly. Butcher does a lot of citizen's arrests. Usually I just stand to the side and look menacing," Brendon sulks. "Tom's never seen me. He's been avoiding Mrotek lately, anyway. Uh. Before-he-left-the-band-lately, I mean," he adds.

"Well, yeah. He's afraid—" Jon starts to say before he remembers himself and swallows the rest of the sentence.

Leaning back, Ryan studies Jon's face. "What's Conrad afraid of, Jon?" he asks softly. The liquid arm around Jon's middle tightens slightly, flexing. Threatening.

"He's not going to say anything about to anyone, okay? He's not a—a security leak, so just drop it," Jon snaps. "Maybe you three don't value the concept of 'trust,' but I do. As does Tom. He told me what he did because he trusts me, and I'm not going to violate that trust."

Outside, Zack's banging the door, yelling at them to get their sorry asses moving already, and Ryan loosens his arm and flows off Jon's lap, still frowning. Spencer and Brendon untangle themselves and file out the door, still bickering over whether Brendon sticking his hands up Spencer's shirt counts as "petting" or "inappropriate groping, I swear to god, if you do that _one more time_ , Brendon—"

Ryan reforms his arm into something solid and opaque and starts to follow them, but he stops at the door. Pauses and glances back at Jon with eyes that are more cloudy-clear than honey-brown. "You can champion loyalty and trust as much as you like, Walker, but there are things in this world that are stronger than both of those. Namely, contracts. And yours says that you are required to divulge to me any information which I believe may have some impact on the relative safety of the band and its members."

"I..."

"I'd rather not invoke that clause unless it proves absolutely necessary. However, if it does..." Ryan trails off, his gaze sharp and dangerous. "Something to keep in mind," he finishes before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Jon sits there, frozen in place. He stares at the door until Zack has to come in and bodily drags him out to join the others.

* * *

Jon contemplates taking the whole thing to Pete (and by "Pete" he actually means Patrick), only a large part of why the guys are so freaked out about Tom's dreams—visions—whatever—seems to be that they're worried Pete (and again, by extension Patrick, as well as the pair's otherworldly bosses) will find out about Brendon's crime-fighting activities with the Butcher. Instead, Jon goes to Zack, because even though Zack can be a bit brutal in his methods for keeping the demons in line, he also cares about their safety just as much as he cares about Jon's, which is a lot more than he honestly gives a damn about the fans whom he's supposed to be protecting from Ryan and Spencer's human-eating ways.

"So, uh. Ryan might've kinda threatened me before the show last night," Jon tells Zack the next day after leaving Tom to the tender mercies of the demons and one of their human nature study groups. Jon's pretty sure Spencer has them watching _The Goonies_.

Strangely, Zack doesn't look particularly surprised by Jon's news, just narrows his eyes and presses his lips together. "Did you say or do anything that Ryan could have construed as a threat to Spencer?" he asks.

"What? No, it's a—a Tom thing, kind of. A Tom and Brendon thing, though Tom doesn't even _know_ it's Brendon, so I don't see why Ryan's so fucking worried," Jon grumbles.

"If it's not about Spencer then you aren't in any serious danger or anything," Zack reassures him. "Brendon and Conrad are just Ryan's protégés. He doesn't have any sort of geas to protect them the way he does with Spencer."

Jon frowns, momentarily distracted by what Zack's said. "Tom's not Ryan's protégé."

Zack snorts. "Hate to break it to you, but he is, right along with you and Brendon. And Brent before they went ate him. It's his expertise, teaching people how to play the violin spectacularly well."

"...violin is _not_ the same as guitar, man. There's a bow and stuff, for one thing."

"He's expanded his repertoire over the years. Either way, he can't help but correct your playing when he's around you all the time, and I'm sure he does the same thing with Conrad, even if neither of you realize it."

"Huh." Well, that's certainly food for thought, though not exactly helpful information in the current situation. "Ryan said something about a clause in my contract that says I have to tell him anything he thinks might affect the welfare of the band."

Blinking, Zack frowns. "He tried to invoke that one on you? Usually he only tries to pull it on Pete. It's not in your contract, exactly, it's in his—he can demand information from anyone on Pete's label if he thinks it affects him or any other member of the band. I think it was a concession after Pete put in the bit about the demons having to do work for the spirit plane," he explains. "Technically, it's a part of the contract for the whole band, so you could demand that Ryan or one of the others spill the beans sometimes if you feel the need, but good luck managing it. As it is, only Ryan ever tries to use it."

"Is that why they're so up front about the supernatural stuff?" Jon asks, because he can't help but be curious. Pretty much the only thing the demons of Panic! at the Disco have been reticent about so far has been the fact that Spencer's half-human, half-demon.

"No, they just don't really have any filters when it comes to that kind of thing. Brendon and Ryan basically assume everyone knows about the demon thing, never mind that most humans don't even believe in that kind of stuff."

"Wait, they do? But Ryan was all ready to grill me to find out exactly how much Tom might know about Brendon not being human," Jon says, brow furrowing. If the demons assume that everyone _knows_ they're demons—which, okay, isn't exactly new news to him, seeing as how Jon remembers how surprised they were when they found out that he'd been completely in the dark about what he was getting himself into back when he first joined the band—then why the hell is Ryan so freaked out about this thing with Tom?

Zack shrugs and shakes his head. "Can't help you there. They're great guys, but not even I try to pretend like I understand what's going on in their heads most of the time."

Jon considers this and nods. He doesn't think even Spencer can claim to understand the workings of Ryan's mind all of the time, and they've known each other for _ages_. Likely the demon just felt like putting the Fear of Ryan in Jon for no real reason beyond the fact that he could and he isn't actually the least bit concerned by what Tom may or may not know. Having decided this, Jon wanders off to the back lounge to join Tom in pissing off Spencer by reciting the movie's dialogue exactly thirty seconds ahead of the actors. It is entirely possible that Jon and Tom were both obsessed with _The Goonies_ when they were adolescents and frequently spent much time lamenting the fact that Lake Michigan was not known for having been historically plagued by pirates prone to pillaging Spanish galleons.

* * *

In the end, Zack's the one who figures out once and for all what Tom's issue is. Jon tries to not beat himself up over the fact that he didn't suss it out first—after all, not even the demons had anything more than an inkling of the way of it, and they're always insisting how they're so superior to humans. Well, Ryan is, at least—Brendon never says it outright (though he implies it a lot), and Jon knows Spencer feels uncomfortable saying that one group is better than the other, caught in middle the way he is.

Everyone's feeling relaxed and content, busy unwinding when the issue comes up. They've somehow managed to make it to the venue early for once after running late for the previous three, and they're just taking the time to catch their breath. Tom's starting to feel comfortable about his mental health again, no one's thinking about what he may or may not know in regards to Brendon and Butcher as a crime-fighting duo, and Spencer's even forgiven Tom for getting him a pink teddy bear two truckstops back.

(Tom claimed he bought it because, "It reminded me of you, Spence."

"When you think of me, you think of deranged teddies?" Spencer snapped, clearly pissed.

"It has blue eyes and is sparkly and pink," Jon pointed out. "There is no way you can _not_ see the resemblance, Spencer Smith."

"I'm pretty sure the blues eyes are what make it look deranged," Brendon said thoughtfully.

"Yes, exactly. It looks just like Spencer," was Ryan's dreamy contribution.)

They're all lounging around near the venue, playing 'I Spy' at Brendon's insistence. Jon thinks this might be another of Brendon's schemes to "help us get in touch with our inner-humans," but he doesn't mind. Actually finds it kind of fun, in fact.

Well. Fun except for how Tom keeps winning with his uncannily good guessing skills. "I spy with my little eye something that—"

"—begins with T. It's your toes," Tom says, not even bothering to open his eyes in order to see Jon's epic sadface. "You always choose your toes when you want something you don't think anyone else will guess." Jon's starting to remember why they stopped playing this game when they were kids.

"No fair! Tom is cheating with his freaky best friend psychic connection," Brendon protests. He makes all kinds of faces to better express his indignation about the situation. Being the mature adult that he is, Jon makes faces back at him.

"So I'll go," Spencer says.

"That's not any better—if you go then Ryan'll figure it out right away and it'll still be no fun at all. _I'll_ go," Brendon decides. "I spy with my little eye something that begins with G."

"Grass," Jon guesses.

"Girl," Spencer tries, waving at one of the merch girls in the distance.

"Gabardine," Ryan says, looking up from the daisy chain he's working on.

"No, no, and no," Brendon says gleefully, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Where the fuck did you get _gabardine_ , Ryan?"

"My vest is made of gabardine," Ryan protests.

"Gnat," Tom says, yawning. "Though I don't think it should count if you've accidentally swallowed it, Brendon, because that's technically not _seeing_."

Brendon sits up and stares at Tom. "Dude, how did you _do_ that? I didn't cough or anything when it went down."

Tom opens his eyes and shrugs. "I have scary skills of guessiness, don't you know." He wiggles his fingers at Brendon, who laughs.

"What color am I thinking of, Conrad?" Zack suddenly asks.

"Red," Tom replies without thinking.

"What's in my pocket?"

"Which one?"

"Jeans, front left."

"Keys, two rubber bands, and Brendon's phone—he left it in the front lounge at breakfast."

"My phone! Zack, you are the best," Brendon says, happily accepting the phone when Zack hands it to him. "Well, after Tom, I mean. Tom Conrad, you are like a magic eight ball of _awesome_." Suddenly Brendon grins wide and leans towards Tom, dropping his voice in a conspiratorial manner. "Hey. Where'd Spencer stash his lady bug this time?"

"In Zack's pillow. They have an agreement," Tom tells him, smirking.

"Score! Adorable snuggly lady bug, here I come!" Brendon crows, jumping up and running off in the direction of the bus.

"Hey!" Spencer cries, scrambling to his feet. "Leave Miss Dots alone!" He rushes off, hot on Brendon's heels, intent on saving the plush lady bug he insists on traveling with from death by electrocution.

Pushing himself upright, Jon can't decide who he should stare at—Zack or Tom. He settles on Zack, who's busy staring down a seemingly oblivious Tom. "...what just happened?" Jon asks slowly.

"I'm not the one you should be asking that," Zack says. He nudges Tom with the toe of his shoe. "Conrad is. How long have you been able to read minds, Tom?"

"Umm... what?" Tom asks. There's still a smile on his face, but he's starting to look a bit confused as well.

Next to Jon, Ryan makes an interested noise and sits up straighter. "I _knew_ it."

Zack raises an eyebrow. "You knew about Tom being psychic and yet you still terrorized Jon trying to find out how much Tom knows about Brendon?"

"Well, no, I didn't know that was what was going on, I just knew there had to be a logical explanation for how he knew about Mrotek," Ryan says. He has the courtesy look at least a little sheepish.

"Okay, I have to've missed something here," Tom says, finally taking the situation seriously. "How is my being _psychic_ a 'logical explanation'? And what does any of this have to do with Andy?"

Ryan and Zack both look at Jon, who sighs and rubs his face. So much for his hope of keeping this part of his life normal and real. "The other guys in Panic! aren't human," Jon explains. "They're demons from another plane of existence. Well, mostly. And before you ask, no, I didn't summon them or anything like that. Pete didn't either. They just sort of... showed up on their own and stuff. Zack's a kind of... wizard-thing. He does magic and stuff to keep the demons in line. If he says you're psychic, he's probably right."

"Strangely enough, I believe you, despite this all being very _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ ," Tom says with a frown.

"That'd be the mindreading. It lets you know when people are lying to you," Zack says kindly.

"Still doesn't explain what's going on with Andy, though," Tom reminds them.

Jon relaxes, because this is something he _can_ give Tom—the reassurance that he's completely, totally sane. "My guess is that the psychic thing was what was screwing you up with The Academy. You weren't going nuts, you were just picking up images from the Butcher's head. Butcher isn't a huge bird, he just associates with one."

"You can't be sure of that," Tom insists.

"Well, see, no, I can be. Brendon's the bir—"

"Jon!" Ryan exclaims, eyes wide. "You can't tell him about that!"

"What, that Brendon's a bird? Dude, if he can read minds, he's going to find that out sooner or later no matter what," Jon says with a shrug.

"Not that, the—the other thing—" Ryan flounders, flailing slightly. Jon kind of wishes he had his camera so he could take a picture of the face Ryan's making. "Fish out of water" is the best way to describe it, Jon thinks.

"Is this about the crime-fighting thing?" Zack asks, rolling his eyes. "I keep telling you, Ryan—so long as Mrotek doesn't have him kill or maim any humans, there's nothing Patrick can do to Brendon about that."

"But—!"

"Brendon?" Tom asks Jon, tilting his head to the side.

"Gets randomly summoned by Butcher to fight crime sometimes. Butcher doesn't realize it's Brendon, though, just thinks it's some random bird his magic tattoo can call up," Jon explains, ignoring Ryan's squawks of protest.

"And Patrick?"

"Is from another world, one that, among other things, polices interaction between this world and the one the demons are from."

"Huh. I always figured Pete was the one who was out of this world," Tom admits.

"Yeah, me too, but no. Pete's completely human, he just died and came back to life afterwards because of a paperwork error. Zack says the drummer from Avenged Sevenfold is some kind of fire-eating dog, and that Ray Toro is, like... the most powerful martial artist in the world." Jon can't help but sound a little wistful when he explains this.

"Seriously?"

Jon nods. "And Quinn Allman can move stuff with his brain."

Tom sighs and shakes his head. "Well, yeah. We already knew Reprise had all the cool people."

* * *

Since he knows a lot more about this kind of stuff than Zack or the demons, in the end they end up dropping off Tom in New Jersey with Ray Toro. Jon is, of course, duly impressed by meeting the guy.

"Zack says you're pretty much the most powerful martial artist _ever_ ," Jon enthuses beaming up at Toro. It's pretty awesome, this demon and other supernatural phenomena thing. Apparently there's a club or something, and any and everyone who belongs to it also hangs out together (as long as they aren't deadly enemies, at least). Which means it's cool to bother My Chemical Romance, even though they are, as Tom pointed out, on a different label.

"He totally is," Iero calls out from where he's beating up zombies on Toro's game system with Brendon. Apparently, Iero's just as mundane as Jon, except he tags along with his supernaturally-gifted bandmates and takes out rogue demons with a metal baseball bat. Jon has to respect a guy who's gutsy enough to do that. "Like, he can crush a guy's skull with his _thighs_."

Toro frowns and thwaps Iero on the head. It apparently causes him to miss a zombie, if Brendon's cackle of glee is anything to go by. "Stop telling people stuff like that. It isn't true." He shrugs, grimacing at Jon. "It's more like most powerful human spiritual martial artist in North America, as far as anyone knows. There might be someone stronger who just keeps to themselves, and there are definitely other people who are stronger than me. My _sensei_ , for example—she's teeny and probably a hundred and eleven, but she's seriously scary."

"Dude, so true," Iero adds in a solemn voice. "She almost squished Saporta a few years ago when she was visiting and the idiot managed to get himself and Gerard and Mikey, like, kidnapped by foxy ninjas."

"Well, technically they were _kitsune_ , but yeah, Genkai- _sensei_ was pretty pissed," Toro agrees.

Beside Jon, Zack rolls his eyes. "Why am I not surprised that Saporta's been kidnapped by ninjas?"

"Because he pulls shit like that every couple mon– Oh, fuck, that is totally not fair, kid! You're cheating with your freaky bird powers," Iero exclaims, tackling Brendon and yelling something about Brendon frying his controller.

Jon raises his eyebrows at Tom, who's been silent this whole time. Shuffling closer to him, Jon leans in and murmurs, "You sure about this? We could probably find someone back home to teach you, you don't have to hang with the Jersey crazies."

"Dude. It's _Ray Toro_ ," Tom says, awe evident in his voice. "You think he'll teach me his awesome shredding ways?"

Laughing, Jon shrugs. "Who knows, man. Probably, if you ask? He seems pretty cool. Just, y'know, don't ask Iero to teach you his spastic stage show moves. I don't think you're tiny enough to pull 'em off."

"Well, duh. He's _Iero_ ," Tom says, rolling his eyes. He shares a grin with Jon and they high-five. This psychic best friends thing is pretty awesome, Jon thinks. Especially when you understand that's what's going on.

Leaving Tom in Jersey is hard, because Jon's grown used to having him right there and handy. In the end, though, Jon sucks it up and deals. Tom's no longer on the edge of a nervous breakdown, and Toro seems to know what he's talking about when he says he'll teach Tom how to shield and project and all kinds of other stuff Jon can't even begin to understand. Besides, much as Jon loves having him around, Tom has his own life to get on with, and also, Panic! at the Disco is supposed to record a second album now that this tour is officially over.

They're pulling away from Toro's place when Ryan twists around in his seat to say, "I think we should get a cabin. In the woods. To write the album."

"Well, as long as there's a lake nearby or something," Spencer says doubtfully, frowning. Jon can understand his concern—despondent, emo Ryan is not something any of them want to deal with, particularly when putting together an album.

"Well, obviously," Ryan says, clearly affronted that Spencer might think he was considering anything else.

"Alright, sex cabin!" Brendon whoops. Jon's bangs flutter as Brendon sweeps his arms upwards in victory, and Ryan's hat threatens to fly off and out the window of the car.

"Not sex cabin. Music cabin," Ryan corrects, grabbing the brim of his hat before it can escape. "Dammit, Brendon, be more careful with your fucking wings." Brendon rolls his eyes and shrugs, but doesn't apologize.

A protest, however, is lodged against the cabin from an unexpected corner. "No," Zack says firmly, glaring at them all. "No cabins for you four."

"Aw, Zack. Sex cabin—how can you say no to sex—"

"Music."

"—cabin?" Brendon's bottom lip wobbles slightly, and Jon hides a smile behind his hand as he watches Brendon force his eyes bigger.

"If you want to get a cabin, I'm not going to stop the three of you," Zack says, pointing at the demons, "though god knows I probably should. But you can't take Jon along."

"If they get to hang out at a cabin, I want in," Jon protests. "I did YMCA camp when I was younger, I can totally handle the wild outdoors."

"It isn't the wild outdoors I'm concerned about you handling," Zack says, still frowning. "Where were you thinking of getting this cabin?" he asks Ryan.

"Oh, I don't know... Near Vegas, maybe? I think there are cabins and stuff up in the mountains around there." Ryan waves his hand vaguely. Plans have never been Ryan's strong point.

"In the mountains where no one can hear Jon scream for help," Zack snaps.

"...hey," Jon protests, frowning. "I don't scream for help. I shout. In a very manly fashion. And anyway, like I said—I can handle the wild."

"Yeah, but can they handle being cooped up with you for however-long it takes the four of you to hash out an album? It wouldn't be like on tour, where there are shows and things to force you to get out. And there won't be any other humans around. Where's the closest morgue to this cabin of yours?" Zack demands.

Ryan fidgets, taking off his hat and staring down at the feather tucked in the band. "Well. Like I said. There's nothing definite yet. It was just an _idea_ , Zack. And besides, it's Jon. We wouldn't eat Jon."

There's a fit of coughing from Brendon. Jon starts to carefully scoot closer to Spencer on the seat when he thinks he hears a, "Probably," in there somewhere. To Jon's relief, Spencer seems just as worried as him by this entire exchange. At least, he's concerned enough to awkwardly pat Jon's shoulder. Always nice to know he's got someone on his side, Jon thinks. Never mind that Spencer was the one who started the feeding-frenzy last time.

"We don't actually _need_ to go to a cabin in the middle of nowhere in order to do a write album," Spencer says suddenly. For once, his face and arms are free of fur, despite the fact that there's no need for them to be, and Jon wonders if Spencer's even noticed how sharp and precise his control is at the moment. "In fact, since when do we need to take the time to write an album? You've been scribbling away for the past two, three tours, Ryan, and we've all been figuring out music for what you've been writing in between other things."

Blinking, Jon pulls back slightly to study Spencer. It's... a really good point, the one that he's raised. Jon doesn't know about how it works between Ryan and Spencer, but he does know that Ryan will press in close and sudden whenever he senses that Jon or Brendon might be experimenting, trying something new. Jon thinks it might have something to do with Ryan's... essence, or nature, or whatever-the-fuck you call it. Ryan's ability, his _need_ to teach people fiddle, guitar, bass, whatever. "...Spencer has a point," Jon says finally. "What's wrong with refining the songs we have?"

Jamming his hat back on his head, Ryan huffs. "I just thought a cabin would be fun. We could... bond, or whatever it is humans do when they go on retreats. It was just an idea."

Brendon smiles and reaches over to pat Ryan's hand. "It's okay, Ryan. For what it's worth, I think getting a sex cabin is an excellent idea."

" _Not_ a sex cabin."

"Sure it wouldn't be," Brendon purrs. "At least not at the start. After two, three months, though..." He trails off, grinning. Glancing up, Ryan smiles back at him.

Seriously. Jon is _never_ going to understand this band.


End file.
